GUIFIP  OF 

Felix  Fliigel 


WASHIIGTON 


AND 


HIS    GENEKALS. 


BY    J.    T.    HEADLEY, 

AUTHOR  OF  NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  MARSHALS,  THE   SACRED  MOUNTAINS,  ETC. 


IN   TWO    VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


NEW  YORK: 
BAKER  AND  SCRIBNER, 

36  PARK  ROW  AND  145  NASSAU  STREET. 

1847. 


v, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

BAKER  AND   SCRIBNER, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  T.  B.  SMITH,  EDWARD  O.  JENKINS,  PRINTER, 

216  WILLIAM  STREET.  114  NASSAU  STREET. 


TO 

HENRY   DWIGHT,    JR., 

THESE  VOLUMES 

ARE    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED, 

AS    A 
SLIGHT    TOKEN    OP    ESTEEM    AND    AFFECTION, 

BY 

THE  AUTHOK. 


M303574 


LIST  OF  PLATES. 


FACING. 

I.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON, 15 

II.  MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM, 92 

III.  MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY,    ....   132 

IV.  MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD, 146 

V.  MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK, 200 

VI.    MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER, 229 

VII.    MAJOR  GENERAL  GATES, 260 

VIII.    MAJOR  GENERAL  WAYNE, 314 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

The  Circumstances  under  which  he  appeared — His  Early  Life — 
Analysis  of  his  Character — His  Love  of  Adventure — His  Im 
petuosity—His  Self-Control—Control  over  others — His  Patriot 
ism — His  Farewell  to  his  Army  and  Officers,  and  Congress — 
His  Death Page  15 

II. 
MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

His  Early  Life— Enlists  in  the  English  Army — Perilous  Adven 
ture  at  Crown  Point — At  the  Ovens — Massacre  at  Fort  Wil 
liam  Henry— Saves  a  Magazine  of  Powder  from  the  Flames- 
Battle  ty  Moonlight — Is  taken  Prisoner— Battle  of  Bunker 
Hill— Break-neck  Ride  down  a  Precipice—  Struck  with  Paraly 
sis — His  Character 92 

III. 
MAJOR   GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

His  Early  Life— Appointed  Brigadier  General  in  the  American 
Army — Invades  Canada — March  to  Quebec — Storming  of  the 
City  in  the  midst  of  a  Snow-storm — His  Bravery  and  Death — 
His  Character.  ...  132 

IV. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

His  Birth  and  Boyhood — His  Cruel  Disposition — Enters  the 
Army — Sent  against  Ticonderoga — The  March  across  the  Wil 
derness — Sufferings  of  his  Men  at  Gtuebec — Retreat  from  Can 
ada — Battle  of  Valcour  Island — Bravery  at  Danbury — Relieves 
Fort  Schuyler — His  Bravery  at  Saratoga — Quarrel  with  Gates 
— His  Terrible  Appearance  in  the  Second  Battle  of  Saratoga — 
His  Treason  and  Character — His  Death 146 

V. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

His  Youth  —  Taken  Prisoner  by  the  Indians  and  Runs  the 
Gauntlet — Enters  the  Army — Battle  with  the  French  and  In 
dians — Exhibition  of  Great  Physical  Power — Bravery  at  Bun 
ker  Hill — Battle  of  Trenton— Retires  from  the  Army— Battle 
of  Bennington — Closes  his  Career — His  Character.  .  .  200 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

VI. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

His  Early  Life — Noble  Conduct  as  a  Member  of  the  Provincial 
Assembly  of  New  York — Appointed  over  the  Expedition  to 
Canada — His  Complicated  Services — Evacuates  Fort  Edward — 
Murder  of  Jane  McCrea— Battle  of  Oriskany— Relief  of  Fort 
Schuyler — Is  superseded  by  Gates — His  Noble  Conduct  under 
it — Resigns  his  Command — His  Political  Career — His  Death 
and  Character 229 

VII. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  GATES. 

His  Early  Life — Is  Wounded  at  the  Battle  of  Monongahela — 
Appointed  Brigadier  General  of  the  American  Army — Com 
mands  the  Northern  Army — First  Battle  of  Bemis's  Heights — 
Second  Battle  of  Bemis's  Heights — Scene  after  the  Battle — 
Gates's  Vanity  and  Meanness — Plots  against  Washington — Bat 
tle  of  Camden— Bravery  of  De  Kalb— Gates's  Character.  .  260 

VIII. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 

Wrong  Views  in  the  Country  respecting  Discipline — Steuben's 
Rank  in  Europe— Arrival  in  this  Country — Joins  the  Army 
at  Valley  Forge  and  is  appointed  Inspector  General — His 
Mode  of  Discipline — Changes  he  introduced  into  the  Army — 
Effect  of  Discipline — Retires  to  his  Land  near  Utica — His 
Death  and  Burial — His  Character,  with.  Personal  Anecdotes.  293 

IX. 

MAJOR  GENERAL  WAYNE. 

His  Early  Life — Appointed  Brigadier  General— Conduct  at  Bran- 
dywine— Battle  of  Germantown— Is  Surprised  by  the  British 
— Bravery  at  Monmouth — Storming  of  Stony  Point — Bravery 
at  Green  Spring— Wounded  by  a  Sentinel — Is  sent  to  Georgia 
—Defeats  the  Choctaws — Surprises  the  English— Storming  of 
his  Camp  by  the  Indians — Returns  to  Private  Life — Expedition 
against  the  Indians  in  1793— His  Character.  ...  314 

X. 

MAJOR  GENERALS  CON  WAY  AND  MIFFLIN. 

THE  CONWAY  CABAL — Duel  between  Conway  and  Cadwalader — 
Letter  of  the  former  to  Washington— Mifflin's  Career  and 
Character.  ...  314 

XL 

MAJOR  GENERALS  WARD  AND  HEATH.          347 


PREFACE. 


THE  design  of  the  following  work  is  to  group  around  Wash 
ington  the  chief  characters  and  scenes  of  our  Revolution.  In 
all  histories  of  that  event,  movements  and  results  are  given, 
rather  than  scenes ;  and  hence,  while  the  plan  and  progress 
are  clearly  developed,  the  heroic  character  and  thrilling  in 
terest  of  the  struggle  are  in  a  great  measure  lost.  It  thus 
necessarily  becomes  a  matter  of  business,  and  the  enthusiasm 
and  fervor  which  characterized  it,  and  indeed  were  the  most 
remarkable  facts  of  all,  do  not  have  their  due  prominence. 
In  histories  designed  to  give  all  the  details  and  minutiae,  both 
in  the  civil  and  military  departments,  this  is  almost  inev 
itable.  Alison  and  Napier,  however,  furnish  exceptions  to 
this  rule. 

It  is  a  little  strange  that  a  war,  embracing  more  of  the 
romantic  and  heroic  of  any  that  ever  transpired,  should 
appear  on  record  so  tame  and  business-like.  But,  in  the 
effort  to  render  to  every  regiment  and  company  its  due  honor, 
and  to  give  an  exact  description  of  the  manner  in  which 
every  battle  is  fought,  the  spirit  is  necessarily  lost  sight  of; 
yet  the  complete  historian  feels  under  obligation  to  do  this. 
My  plan  does  not  confine  me  to  such  details ;  and  hence,  while 


X  PREFACE. 

I  have  endeavored  to  present  a  correct  and  accurate  descrip 
tion  of  every  battle-field,  I  have  often  sunk  minor  movements 
and  individual  actions,  in  order  to  prevent  confusion.  In 
writing  the  account  of  a  campaign  or  battle  for  a  military 
man,  one  needs  to  look  on  it  from  a  different  point  of  view 
than  he  would  in  writing  for  the  general  reader. 

Again,  in  sketching  the  men  who  led  our  armies,  I  have 
left  out  those  minutiae  which  would  be  considered  indispen 
sable  in  writing  their  separate  lives,  and  preserved  only  their 
more  important  characteristic  acts.  Hence  it  will  be  seen, 
that  it  is  my  object  to  give  the  eventful  part  of  our  Revolu 
tion,  rather  than  its  detailed  history. 

Washington,  standing  amid  his  band  of  patriot  generals, 
is  to  me  the  sublimest  spectacle  the  history  of  the  world  fur 
nishes.  In  watching  them  as  they  move  together  through 
the  long  midnight  that  enveloped  our  prospects,  one  finds 
something  more  to  record  than  the  chivalrous  deeds  of  brave 
ambitious  men,  or  the  triumphs  of  disciplined  armies :  there 
is  the  enthusiastic  love  of  liberty,  unconquerable  resolution, 
the  firm  reliance  on  Heaven,  together  with  all  that  is  good 
and  heroic  in  action.  Risking  tfceir  fortunes  to  gain,  it  might 
be,  a  halter — enduring  privations,  sufferings,  and  years  of  toil 
for  the  sake  of  principle — they  present  a  group  on  which  the 
eye  rests  with  ever-increasing  admiration. 

In  making  out  the  list  of  those  whom  I  should  introduce, 
I  was  forced,  in  order  to  preserve  any  unity,  to  confine  my 
self  to  the  Major  Generals.  These  under  our  system  corres 
pond  mainly  to  the  Marshals  of  France — being  placed  over 
wings  and  divisions  of  an  army,  and  intrusted  often  with 


PREFACE.  XI 

separate  commands.  Hence,  in  giving  an  account  of  their 
movements,  and  their  battles,  the  actions  of  Brigadier  Gen 
erals  necessarily  came  in,  rendering  it  impossible  afterwards 
to  furnish  separate  sketches  of  the  latter  .without  producing 
inextricable  confusion. 

Some  would  think  that  such  men  as  Morgan,  and  Henry 
Lee,  and  Sumpter,  and  Pickens,  and  Clinton,  and  others 
deserve  a  prominent  place,  and  so  they  do ;  but  acting  in  a 
subordinate  capacity,  it  is  impossible  to  place  them  in  any 
other  relative  position.  Lee  and  Morgan  especially,  merit 
all  the  praise  bestowed  on  any  chief  commander.  I  have 
therefore  endeavored  to  render  them,  and  others  justice,  in 
describing  the  battles  they  helped  to  gain ;  and  in  an  Appen 
dix  supplied  their  biographies.  Colonel  Hamilton  too  was 
one  of  the  most  important  men  of  the  Eevolution  ;  but  as  aid 
to  Washington,  his  services  partook  more  of  the  cabinet  than 
of  the  field.  Probably,  there  was  no  officer  in  the  service 
more  capable  of  managing  an  army,  or  that  would  have  shed 
greater  lustre  on  our  arms  than  he.  But  Washington  could 
not  spare  him  from  his  side.  Chivalrous,  brave,  of  profound 
forethought,  and  trancendent  genius,  he  would  have  run  a 
military  career  surpassed  by  none.  Still  he  rendered  greater 
service  where  he  was — for  the  daring  and  resolute  youth 
was  one  of  the  firmest  props  of  Washington.  But  as  my 
design  is  to  sketch  the  military  part  of  the  Revolution,  and 
also  to  confine  myself  to  the  chief  commanders,  I  have  not 
incorporated  him  in  the  work. 

In  collecting  materials,  I  have  been  surprised  at  the  dearth 
of  details  necessary  to  give  one  a  complete  and  clear  concep- 


PREFACE. 


tion  of  the  battles  fought.  There  is  not  an  action  in  which 
Bonaparte  was  engaged,  so  barren  of  personal  incident  as 
every  one  of  those  in  which  Washington  took  a  part.  This  is 
doubtless  partly  owing  to  the  want  of  newspapers  at  that  time. 
Our  chief  cities  were  in  possession  of  the  enemy,  and  hence 
every  republican  press  silenced.  Besides,  it  was  a  period  of 
j^reat  dignity  both  in  manner  and  language,  and  important 
characters  were  not  spoken  of  with  that  familiarity  they  now 
are.  This  is  one  great  reason  why  Washington's  correspon 
dence  and  writings  appear  so  formal  and  restrained. 

The  incidents  which  have  been  preserved  have  come  down 
to  us  by  tradition.  These  our  Historical  Societies  have 
gathered  up  with  great  care,  though  they  are  scattered  over 
a  wide  space.  Every  one  writing  of  a  character  or  an  event, 
jots  down  any  interesting  incident  he  may  possess,  whether 
belonging  in  that  connection  or  not,  solely  to  preserve  it  ;  and 
thus  material  lies  separate  and  disjointed  through  our  libra 
ries.  If  I  have  in  the  present  work  rendered  the  history  of 
our  country  any  service,  it  is  in  gathering  and  grouping  toge 
ther  those  hitherto  divided  and  diffused  materials.  It  would 
be  in  vain  for  me  to  attempt  to  give  all  the  authorities  and 
papers  I  have  consulted,  and  to  which  I  am  indebted.  The 
Historical  Society  Library  of  New  York  City  has  been  of  incal 
culable  service  to  me  ;  Spark's  collection  of  American  Biogra 
phies  has  saved  me  a  world  of  trouble,  by  furnishing  me  the 
early  history  of  the  separate  commanders,  together  with  dates 
and  outlines.  I  have,  however,  passed  from  one  authority  to 
another,  consulting  old  newspapers,  and  a  large  collection  of 
clippings  of  papers  in  possession  of  the  Historical  Society, 


PREFACE.  Xlll  . 

so  that  faithful  reference  to  all  my  sources  of  information 
would  be  tedious  and  useless.  But  in  writing  the  sketches 
of  Arnold  and  Marion,  I  have  followed  almost  exclusively 
the  life  of  the  former  by  Sparks,  and  of  the  latter  by  Simms. 
Mr.  Simms  especially,  will  find  that  I  have  used  his  inter 
esting  biography  of  Marion  without  stint.  I  have  sought  to 
be  accurate  in  all  the  facts  stated ;  and  hence  have  left  out 
many  things  of  interest,  which  I  believe  to  be  true,  because 
the  evidence  rests  entirely  on  some  traditionary  story.  That 
I  should  frequently  disagree  with  authorities  esteemed  relia 
ble  is  inevitable,  for  they  disagree  among  themselves.  When 
it  is  remembered  that  Putnam's  share  in  the  battle  of  Bun 
ker-Hill,  has  been  treated  with  contempt,  and  even  his 
bravery  questioned  by  some,  while  others  render  him  the 
chief  glory  of  the  action  ;  and  that  the  fact  of  Arnold's  being 
in  the  first  battle  of  Bemis's  Heights,  which  was  fought 
entirely  by  his  division,  has  been  stoutly  denied  by  an  officer 
of  rank  in  the  engagement ;  it  cannot  surprise  any  one  to 
find  my  statements  at  war  with  those  of  some  writers.  Where 
accounts  clash,  as  they  frequently  do,  in  an  early  history,  one 
must  be  governed  by  his  own  views  of  the  probabilities  in  the 
case. 

But  my  great  labor  has  been  spent  in  collecting  facts 
illustrating  the  battles  of  the  Revolution.  I  have  avoided 
repetition,  as  much  as  possible,  but  yet  have  chosen  in  some 
places  to  let  this  fault  remain,  in  order  to  secure  an  object 
I  could  not  reach  without  it.  In  going  over  the  same 
scenes,  and  frequently  over  the  same  battles,  it  is  not  only 
inevitable,  but  necessary  to  a  clear  narrative.  Besides, 

VOL.  i.  2 


XIV  PREFACE. 

the  intense  words  of  our  language  are  easily  exhausted ; 
and  one  is  often  compelled,  in  describing  thrilling-  scenes, 
to  choose  between  a  weak  sentence,  and  the  repetition  of 
strong  words  and  perhaps  similar  comparisons.  Repeti 
tion  has  been  a  standing  charge  against  my  Napoleon  and 
his  Marshals ;  yet  if  I  were  to  re-write  it  a  thousand  times,  I 
could  not  avoid  it,  without  making  half  the  scenes  tame  and 
common-place.  It  seems  to  me,  that  a  series  of  sketches 
ought  not  to  be  judged  by  the  same  rules  as  a  connected 
history.  They  are  not  designed  to  have  any  relation  to  each 
other,  any  more  than  a  separate  collection  of  paintings ;  and  to 
make  one  tame,  in  order  to  relieve  the  other,  appears  a  very 
questionable  mode  of  treating  men,  and  their  actions.  Each 
should  be  judged  by  itself,  and  if  it  be  complete,  and  true  to 
nature  and  fact,  that  is  all  that  can  be  expected.  Every 
thing  in  this  world,  but  moral  excellence,  is  a  choice  between 
two  evils ;  and  one  thing  has  always  to  be  sacrificed  to  gain 
another. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

The  Circumstances  under  which  he  appeared — His  Early  Life — Analy 
sis  of  his  Character — His  Love  of  Adventure — His  Impetuosity — His 
Self-control— Control  over  others — His  Patriotism — His  Farewell 
to  his  Army  and  Officers,  and  Congress — His  Death. 

THOUGH  seemingly  a  contradiction,  it  is  nevertheless 
true,  that  time  only  renders  the  character  of  Washing 
ton  more  clear,  while  the  circumstances  which  devel 
oped  it  become  more  and  more  indistinct.  One  would 
think  it  indispensable  to  the  correct  estimation  of  a 
character,  that  we  should  have  a  definite  knowledge  of 
the  events  with  which  it  stood  connected,  and  of  the 
influences  that  helped  to  form  it.  It  is  so,  but  we  have 
to  lose  one  thing  to  gain  another — to  sacrifice  the  right 
understanding  which  personal  knowledge  and  direct 
contact  give  to  secure  the  removed  point  of  an  impar 
tial  observer.  In  a  struggle  like  that  of  our  Revolu 
tion,  characterized  as  it  was  by  personal  animosity, 
divided  sympathies,  and,  worse  than  all,  by  many  dis 
asters,  the  leader  of  it  must  always  be  more  or  less  the 
victim  of  prejudice.  It  matters  not  whether  he  be  a 
good  or  bad  man,  whether  eulogized  or  condemned; 
— feeling  will  have  more  to  do  with  the  verdict  ren- 


16  GE-ORGE^  "WASHINGTON. 


dered  than  judgment.  Bonaparte  did  not  wish  his  life 
written  till  twenty-five  years  after  his  death,  as  he  con 
sidered  it  impossible  for  the  historians  of  that  genera 
tion  to  view  his  career  with  an  impartial  eye.  One 
might  as  well  attempt  to  give  a  clear  and  correct  de 
scription  of  the  movements  of  the  several  columns  of  an 
army  in  a  great  battle,  while  he  himself  is  in  the  smoke 
and  confusion  of  the  fight,  as  to  be  an  unprejudiced 
historian  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  especially  if 
they  have  been  marked  by  the  breaking  up  of  old  forms 
and  relations,  and  the  institution  of  new  ideas  and  new 
experiments.  Hence  all  great  reformers  are  covered 
with  obloquy  in  one  age  and  canonized  in  another.  As 
we  recede  from  the  scene  of  conflict  and  turmoil,  we 
are  apt  to  become  more  impartial.  The  point  of  ob 
servation  is  the  safest  point,  and  this  cannot  be  secured 
except  we  stand  at  a  distance.  Thus  Washington  is 
more  highly  appreciated  the  farther  removed  the  scenes 
become  in  which  he  lived.  The  Englishman  forgets 
his  national  animosity,  so  bitter  during  the  Revolution 
and  immediately  after  it,  and  the  monarchist  lays  aside 
his  hatred  of  republican  principles,  to  unite  in  an  eulogy 
over  the  incorruptible  patriot  and  hero.  The  whole 
world  renders  homage  to  the  man,  and  will  continue  to 
do  so  to  the  end  of  time  ;  yet  no  one  can  now  fully  ap 
preciate  the  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed. 

The  American  Revolution  was  an  anomaly  in  the 
history  of  the  world.  For  a  feeble  colony  just  strug 
gling  into  existence,  —  without  ships,  without  a  regular 
army,  and  without  munitions  of  war,  to  enter  into  open 
combat  with  the  most  powerful  nation  on  the  globe  for 
the  sake  of  a  mere  principle,  was  opening  a  new  page 


HIS     POSITION.  17 

to  the  eye  of  monarchs,  which  it  is  no  wonder  they 
trembled  to  read.     Bounded  on  one  side  by  a  limitless 
forest  filled  with  hostile  savages,  and  on  the  other  by 
the  ocean,  whose  bosom  was  covered  with  the  fleets  of 
her  foes,  she  nevertheless  stood  up  in  the  simple  majesty 
of  justice,  and  offered  battle  to  the  strongest  empire  in 
the  world.    National  weakness,  internal  feuds  and  foes, 
the  presence  and.  power  of  colonial  magistrates  and 
governors,  were  disregarded,  or  seen  only  to  excite 
higher  resolution ;  and  Massachusetts  stood  up  in  the 
midst  of  the  gathering  storm  and  called  aloud  to  Vir 
ginia,  and  Virginia  answered  her,  sending  her  cheer 
ing   voice   through   the   gloom.      To   bring   harmony 
out  of  the  discord   that   prevailed,  produce    strength 
from  weakness,  and  create  resources  where  they  did  not 
exist,  was  the  work  assigned  to  George  Washington. 
How  he  succeeded  amid  the  difficulties  that  beset  his 
path,  and  for  a  period  of  seven  years,  filled  as  they 
were  with  disasters  and  sufferings,  maintained  his  po 
sition,  baffled  his  foes,  and  finally  saved  his  country, 
will  always  remain  a  marvel  to  the  historian  of  those 
times.     Though  we  may  now  eulogize  his  character, 
we  cannot  estimate  the  fiery  trial  to  which  he  was  ex 
posed.     The  immense  burden  that  lay  on  his  shoulders 
during  those  seven  years  of  gloom  and  darkness,  the 
obstacles  that  thickened  as  he  advanced,  the  obloquy 
that  would  attend  failure,  and  the  misery  that  a  single 
misstep  might  inflict  on  his  country,  and,  more  than 
all,  the  hopes  of  liberty  intrusted  to  his  care,  combined 
to  make  him  a  prey  to  the  most  ceaseless  anxiety,  and 
render  his  life  one  of  toil,  mental  activity,  and  fearful 
forebodings,  sufficient  to  wreck  the  loftiest  character. 

2* 


18  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

All  the  details — those  petty  annoyances,  hopes  deferred, 
promises  broken,  aid  refused  or  plans  baffled  by  pro 
fessed  friends — are  left  out  of  the  account  when  we 
reckon  up  his  qualities  and  estimate  his  virtues.  Yet 
these  are  often  the  severest  tests  of  a  man,  and  those 
who  have  stood  firm  as  a  rock  and  pure  as  gold  under 
great  trials,  have  fallen  or  failed  in  these  lesser  ones. 

That  was  a  gloomy  hour  for  our  country,  when  the 
British  empire  roused  itself  for  our  overthrow,  and  it 
required  more  than  a  prophet's  vision  to  see  light 
through  the  cloud  that  hung  over  our  prospects.  The 
Indian  war  had  just  closed,  and  the  feeble  colonies 
were  beginning  to  emerge  from  the  difficulties  and 
hardships  to  which  they  had  been  exposed,  when  they 
were  compelled  to  contemplate  a  new  evil,  to  which 
all  they  had  hitherto  suffered  and  borne  were  but 
trifles.  They  had  faced  the  dreary  wilderness  and 
lurking  savage  without  fear, .  and  cheerfully  encoun 
tered  every  trial,  and  now,  just  as  the  night  seemed 
past  and  the  morning  of  prosperity  dawning,  a  day  so 
dark  and  appalling  rose  before  them,  that  the  firmest 
heart  sunk  for  a  moment  in  despondency.  The  little 
wealth  they  had  hoarded,  the  few  comforts  they  had  at 
length  succeeded  in  gathering  around  them,  must  be 
given  up,  and  a  war,  the  end  of  which  no  man  could  see, 
entered  upon,  or  the  liberty  for  which  they  had  en 
dured  and  suffered  so  long  surrendered  forever.  With 
out  arms  or  ammunition,  without  any  of  the  means  ne 
cessary  to  carry  on  hostilities,  with  nothing  to  rely 
upon  but  the  justice  of  their  cause  and  the  protection 
of  heaven,  they  nevertheless  boldly  entered  on  the 
doubtful  contest.  The  trumpet  of  war  sounded  through 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  19 

all  our  peaceful  settlements,  calling  the  artisan  from  his 
bench,  the  farmer  from  his  plough,  and  the  man  of 
wealth  from  his  repose,  and  the  shock  came.  Our 
cities  were  ravaged,  our  towns  laid  waste,  all  our 
strongholds  taken,  and  our  citizens  butchered,  yet  still 
the  nation  stood  firm  in  her  integrity  and  her  purpose. 
At  length  defeat  came,  and  with  it  despondency,  and 
privations,  and  sufferings  unparalleled,  till  at  last  the 
army  became  almost  wholly  disorganized,  gradually 
melting  away,  and  every  thing  trembled  on  the  verge 
of  ruin ;  yet,  serene  amid  the  storm,  stood  Washington, 
sending  his  clear  calm  voice  over  the  tumult,  inspiring 
hope  and  courage  when  both  seemed  madness.  Never 
before  did  such  destinies  hang  on  a  single  man,  for  it 
was  not  the  fate  of  a  continent  which  rested  on  the 
issue  of  the  struggle,  but  of  human  liberty  the  world 
over. 

Bora  in  Westmoreland  county,  Virginia,  February 
22d,  1732,  George  Washington  was  forty-three  years  of 
age  when  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  Ameri 
can  army.  Educated  only  in  the  common  schools,  he 
was  offered  a  midshipman's  berth  in  the  British  navy 
when  but  fourteen  years  of  age.  This  situation,  ob 
tained  for  him  by  his  friends  on  account  of  his  strong 
military  tendencies,  was  at  length  given  up  at  the  ear 
nest  solicitation  of  his  mother.  She  could  not  consent 
to  have  him  at  so  early  an  age  depart  from  under  her 
influence  and  drift  away  into  the  temptations  and  trials 
with  which  his  life  would  be  begirt,  and  so  George  was 
kept  at  home,  and  the  destiny  of  the  world  changed. 
Chosen  by  Lord  Fairfax  to  survey  his  wild  lands  lying 
amid  the  Alleghanies,  he  then  only  sixteen  years  old, 


20  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

departed  on  his  arduous  mission.  The  depths  of  an 
American  forest,  with  its  hardships  and  wild  freedom, 
were  a  better  school  for  the  future  commander-in-chief 
of  the  American  army  than  the  British  navy  would 
have  been,  and  here  he  acquired  that  power  of  endu 
rance  which  nothing  seemed  able  to  overcome.  Now 
swimming  his  horse  across  swollen  rivers,  now  strug 
gling  through  swamps  or  over  precipices,  and  now 
weary  and  exhausted,  lying  down  on  his  bed  of  boughs 
— the  trees  his  only  covering,  the  young  surveyor  took 
his  first  lessons  in  those  privations  which  he  afterwards 
taught  his  army  so  heroically  to  bear.  First  as  sur 
veyor  of  Lord  Fairfax,  and  afterwards  as  public  sur 
veyor,  he  spent  three  years  almost  wholly  in  the  open 
air,  sometimes  in  the  forest,  sometimes  amid  the  settle 
ments.  Ardent,  enthusiastic,  and  bold,  the  early  dreamer 
stood  amid  the  wilds  of  his  native  land,  little  thinking 
of  the  career  before  him,  or  of  the  glorious  destiny  that 
awaited  his  country.  His  name  rudely  carved  on  the 
bark  of  a  tree,  or  chiselled  in  the  rock,  were  the  only 
mementoes  he  expected  to  leave  of  himself,  while 
Fate  was  silently  preparing  to  grave  it  on  every  foot 
of  soil  of  this  broad  continent,  and  trace  it  above  all 
earthly  names  on  the  scroll  of  fame. 

Having  performed  his  duty  as  surveyor  so  well,  he 
was  chosen  adjutant-general,  with  the  rank  of  major, 
over  a  portion  of  the  militia  whose  duty  it  was  to  repel 
the  encroachments  of  the  French  and  Indians.  In  the 
meantime,  however,  he  was  absent  four  months  in  the 
Barbadoes  with  a  sick  brother.  The  next  year,  being 
then  twenty-one  years  of  age,  he  took  the  field  with  his 
militia  to  repel  the  French,  who  were  establishing  set- 


PERILOUS     ADVENTURE.  21 

tlements  on  the  Ohio.  But  first  he  was  sent  as  com 
missioner  by  Governor  Dinwiddie  to  demand  of  the 
French  commander  why  he  had  invaded  the  king's 
colonies.  For  seven  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  more 
than  half  of  the  distance  through  an  unbroken  wilder 
ness,  accompanied  by  only  seven  persons,  he  made  his 
way  to  the  Ohio. .  Across  rivers  and  morasses,  over 
mountains,  through  fearful  gorges  and  amid  tribes  of 
Indians,  the  fearless  stripling  pursued  his  way,  and  at 
length,  after  forty-one  days  of  toil,  reached,  in  the  middle 
of  December,  the  end  of  his  journey.  Having  concluded 
his  mission,  he  set  out  in  the  dead  of  winter  to  retrace 
his  dreary  route.  The  horses  after  a  while  gave  out,  and 
the  drivers  were  left  to  take  care  of  them,  while  him 
self  and  Mr.  Gist  pushed  on  alone  on  foot  through  the 
wilderness.  With  his  knapsack  on  his  back  and  his  gun 
in  his  hand,  young  Washington  made  his  way  through 
the  deep  snow  and  over  the  frozen  ground,  without 
a  path  to  guide  his  footsteps  or  a  sound  to  waken 
the  solitude,  save  the  groaning  of  trees  swinging  to 
and  fro  in  the  storm,  or  the  cry  of  some  wild  animal  in 
search  of  prey.  Travelling  in  this  manner,  they  came 
upon  an  Indian,  who,  under  the  pretence  of  acting  as 
guide,  led  them  off  their  route,  and  then  shot  at  them. 
Sparing  his  life,  contrary  to  the  wishes  of  his  friend, 
Washington  soon  got  rid  of  him,  and  walked  all  night 
to  escape  pursuit.  Coming  to  the  Alleghany  river,  they 
found  it  only  partly  frozen  over,  and  here  the  two 
friends  laid  down  upon  the  bank  in  the  cold  snow,  with 
nothing  but  their  blankets  over  them  ;  and  thus  weary 
and  hungry  passed  the  dreary  night.  The  next  morn 
ing  they  set  to  work  with  a  single  hatchet  to  build  a 


22  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

raft,  on  which  they  might  cross  the  river.  They 
worked  all  day  long  on  the  frail  thing,  and  just  after 
sunset  succeeded  in  launching  it  on  the  turbulent 
stream.  When  nearly  half  across,  huge  fragments  of 
floating  ice  came  driving  down  the  current,  and  jam 
ming  against  the  crazy  fabric  of  logs,  bore  it  downward 
and  onward,  threatening  every  moment  to  carry  it 
straight  to  the  bottom.  Young  Washington  thrust  his 
long  setting  pole  firmly  into  the  ground  in  front  of 
the  raft,  in  order  to  stop  it  till  the  ice  and  drift  wood 
could  pass  by,  but  instead  of  arresting  them,  he  was 
jerked  overboard,  into  ten  feet  water,  where  he  had 
to  swim  for  his  life.  Unable  to  keep  the  raft,  the  two 
adventurers  swam  and  waded  to  an  island  near  which 
they  were  passing :  here,  amid  frost  and  snow,  wet  to 
the  skin,  without  a  dry  garment  to'  wrap  themselves  in, 
or  a  blanket  to  cover  them,  or  a  spark  of  fire  to  warm 
their  benumbed  limbs — with  their  clothes  frozen  stiff 
upon  their  backs,  they  passed  the  long  cold  wintry  night. 
Young  Gist  had  his  feet  and  hands  frozen,  while  Wash 
ington,  with  his  greater  power  of  endurance,  escaped. 
They  were  now  without  the  means  of  reaching  either 
shore,  but  the  biting  cold  that  benumbed  their  limbs  and 
froze  stiff  the  hands  and  feet  of  Gist,  froze  also  the  river, 
so  that  when  the  morning*  dawned  it  was  bridged  over 
with  ice  between  them  and  the  shore  they  wished  to 
gain.  Escaping  the  shot  of  the  Indian,  the  dangers  of 
the  forest,  and  death  by  cold,  they  at  length,  after  an 
absence  of  eleven  weeks,  arrived  safety  at  home. 

When  in  imagination  I  behold  this  youth  of  twenty- 
one  years  of  age  in  his  Indian  dress,  his  knapsack  on 
his  back  and  his  gun  in  his-  hand,  stealing  through  the 


MADE     LIEUTENANT-COLONEL.  23 

snow-covered  forest  at  midnight,  or  plunging  about  in 
the  wintry  stream  in  the  struggle  for  life,  or  wrapped 
in  his  blanket  sleeping  beside  the  ice-filled  river,  lulled 
by  its  sullen  roar,  I  seem  to  behold  one  whom  angels 
guard  through  the  desperate  training  which  can  alone 
fit  him  for  the  stern  trials  that  are  before  him. 

The  next  year  young  Washington  was  made  lieu 
tenant-colonel,  and  at  the  head  of  only  three  companies 
boldly  entered  the  wilderness.  Encountering  a  de 
tachment  of  the  French  advancing,  he  attacked  it  and 
took  the  commander  and  all  prisoners,  and  thus  opened 
the  bloody  French  and  Indian  war.  Soon  after,  how 
ever,  he  was  invested  by  a  superior  force  in  Fort  Ne 
cessity,  a  rude  structure  he  had  hastily  thrown  up,  and 
after  fighting  bravely  from  eleven  in  the  morning  till 
eight  at  night  in  a  drenching  rain  storm,  was  compelled 
to  surrender.  But  the  enemy  obtained  a  barren  vic 
tory,  for  a  few  pieces  of  artillery  were  all  that  Wash 
ington  gave  up,  while  he  marched  off  with  drums  beat 
ing  and  colors  flying. 

Here  Washington's  military  career  commences.  The 
next  year  he  witnessed  Braddock's  bloody  defeat,  and 
by  his  boiling  courage,  -reckless  exposure  of  life,  and 
firm  resolution,  succeeded  in  saving  the  wreck  of  the 
army.  Appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  Virginia 
forces,  he  used  every  effort  to  make  them  efficient,  and 
to  beat  back  the  Indians,  who  were  constantly  making 
inroads  on  the  frontier  settlements  and  butchering  the 
inhabitants. 

But  during  the  two  years  of  constant  toil  and  hard 
ships  that  followed,  his  strength  gave  way,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  retire  from  the  service.  A  violent  fever 


24  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

laid  him  prostrate,  and  it  was  four  months  before  he 
could  again  join  the  army.  This  year  (1758)  he  com 
manded  the  advanced  division  of  the  army  under  Gen 
eral  Forbes,  in  its  march  on  Fort  Duquesne,  which  he 
took.  Returning  home  he  retired  to  private  life,  and 
marrying  Mrs.  Martha  Custis,  a  young,  accomplished, 
and  beautiful  widow,  he  settled  down  a  sober  farmer, 
and  the  stirring  career  on  which  he  had  entered  so 
early  and  pursued  with  such  ardor,  seemed  ended. 
Nine  years  of  quiet  passed  away  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family,  though  he  still  took  a  deep  interest  in  public 
affairs,  and  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  chief  men  of 
the  province.  He  was  elected  member  of  the  House 
of  Burgesses  of  Virginia  during  his  last  campaign,  and 
his  first  introduction  to  that  body  has  furnished  us  with 
an  interesting  piece  of  history  respecting  him.  By  a 
vote  of  the  House,  Mr.  Robinson,  the  Speaker,  was  di 
rected  to  express  its  thanks  to  Washington  for  his  dis 
tinguished  military  services.  This  he  did  in  a  manner 
to  suit  himself,  and  poured  forth  such  a  strain  of  eulogy 
on  the  young  commander,  that  he  was  wholly  over 
come,  and  when  he  rose  to  reply,  could  not  stammer 
forth  a  single  word.  Out  of  this  painful  dilemma  the 
eloquent  Speaker  helped  him  as  generously  as  he  had 
helped  him  into  it.  "  Sit  down,  Mr.  Washington,"  said 
he,  in  his  most  courteous  manner,  "  your  modesty  equals 
your  valor,  and  that  surpasses  the  power  of  any  lan 
guage  that  I  possess."  Nothing  could  be  more  elegant 
or  skilful  than  this  double  stroke,  which  not  only  re 
lieved  Washington,  but  paid  him  at  the  same  time  the 
highest  compliment  that  could  be  bestowd. 

But  during  the  years  that  followed,  his  life,  as  be- 


ELECTED     COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.  25 

fore  remarked,  passed  in  comparative  quiet.  When 
not  engaged  in  colonial  affairs  in  the  House  of  Bur 
gesses,  he  was  on  his  plantation  at  Mount  Vernon.  He 
was  very  fond  of  sporting.  During  the  season  of  hunt 
ing,  he  would  go  on  a  fox  chase  almost  every  other 
day,  and  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  spare  time  in  duck 
shooting,  and  was  considered  a  capital  shot. 

But  when  the  Stamp  act  began  to  be  enforced,  he 
took  strong  and  decided  ground  with  the  colonies 
against  the  mother  country,  and  was  found  among  the 
first  to  lift  his  voice  in  defence  of  liberty.  Guarding  it 
with  a  jealous  eye,  he  was  ready  at  any  moment  to 
peril  his  life  in  its  behalf.  And  although  he  deprecated 
a  resort  to  arms,  and  looked  upon  it  as  the  last  argument 
to  use,  he  nevertheless  says,  when  speaking  of  the  lib 
erty  of  the  people,  "  That  no  man  should  scruple  or 
hesitate  a  moment  to  use  arms  in  defence  of  so  valua 
ble  a  blessing  is  clearly  my  opinion."  And  when  in 
1774,  the  House  of  Burgesses  appointed  a  day  of  fast 
ing  and  prayer  in  sympathy  with  the  people  of  Boston, 
whose  port  had  been  closed  by  act  of  Parliament,  we 
find  in  Washington's  private  diary,  "  /  went  to  church 
and  fasted  all  day"  This  shows  how  the  question  had 
taken  hold  of  his  soul,  and  his  path  from  this  time  be 
comes  clear  as  noonday.  Elected  a  delegate  to  the 
first  Congress,  his  calm  resolute  voice  was  heard  in 
favor  of  freedom  at  all  hazards. 

After  the  battle  of  Lexington,  it  became  no  longer 
doubtful  that  the  colonies  must  defend  themselves  by 
force  of  arms,  and  at  the  meeting  of  the  second  Con 
gress,  Washington  was  unanimously  elected  Comman- 
der-in-Chief  of  the  American  armies.  Shrinking  from 

VOL.  i.  3 


26  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

the  tremendous  responsibility  of  this  appointment,  he 
nevertheless  accepted  it,  and  from  the  same  motives 
and  in  the  same  spirit  he  would  have  offered  up  his  life. 
Declaring  publicly  on  the  floor  of  Congress,  that  he 
did  not  think  himself  equal  to  the  command  he  was 
honored  with,  and  refusing  all  pecuniary  remuneration 
for  his  services,  he  boldly  stepped  into  the  gulf  opened 
beneath  his  country,  and  wielded  all  his  vast  energies 
for  her  welfare. 

HIS    CHARACTER. 

From  this  time,  1775,  till  1783,  when  he  bade  fare 
well  to  his  army,  he  moves  before  us  like  some  grand 
embodiment  of  virtue  and  power.  Whether  bowed 
in  fasting  and  prayer  before  God  in  behalf  of  his  coun 
try,  or  taking  the  fate  of  the  American  army  on  his 
brave  heart — whether  retreating  before  the  overwhelm 
ing  numbers  of  the  enemy,  or  pouring  his  furious  squad 
rons  to  the  charge — whether  lost  in  anxious  thought,  as 
his  eye  seeks  in  vain  for  some  ray  amid  the  gloomy 
prospect  that  surrounds  him,  or  spurring  his  frightened 
steed  amid  the  broken  ice  of  the  angry  Delaware  in 
the  midst  of  the  midnight  storm— whether  galloping 
into  the  deadly  vollies  of  the  enemy  in  the  strong  effort 
to  restore  the  fight,  or  wearing  the  wreath  of  victory 
which  a  grateful  nation  placed  with  mingled  tears  and 
acclamations  on  his  brow,  he  is  the  same  self-collected, 
noble-minded,  and  resolute  man. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a  public  character  so  little 
understood  in  the  various  qualities  which  go  to  make 
it  up  as  that  of  Washington.  He  is  called  the  father 


HIS     EARLY     CHARACTER.  27 

of  his  country,  and  that  phrase  embraces  the  man. 
We  contemplate  the  perfected,  finished  character, 
never  thinking  of  the  formation  state.  We  look  at 
the  fruit  alone,  without  asking  what  kind  of  blossom 
produced  it.  Or  if  we  do  go  back  to  his  boyhood  and 
youth,  it  is  to  prove  he  was  just  as  grave,  moderate, 
and  self-collected  then  as  when  a  man.  Such  he  is 
constantly  held  up  to  our  youth ;  without  passions 
without  enthusiasm,  governed  always  by  judgment, 
and  never  by  impulse ;  that  is,  a  miniature  man  from 
his  earliest  infancy. 

Notwithstanding  men's  intimacy  with  human  charac 
ter,  so  utterly  ignorant  are  they  of  it,  that  when  they 
find  an  extraordinary  one,  whether  good  or  bad,  they 
are  looking  out  for  some  exception  to  general  rules, 
and  will  insist  on  making  it  from  the  outset  a  mon 
strosity  either  in  vice  or  virtue.  But  a  great  and  good 
character  is  as  much  the  result  of  a  growth  as  a  tree. 
It  passes  through  different  stages — indeed,  through 
errors — acquires  virtue  by  self-control  and  wisdom  by 
experience,  and  matures  gradually.  Washington,  as 
he  appeared  when  President  of  the  United  States,  and 
Washington  as  a  surveyor,  seventeen  years  old,  amid 
the  Alleghanies,  are  as  two  different  beings  as  can 
well  be  imagined.  There  are  certain  moral  qualities 
which  adhere  to  one  through  life,  and  do  not  change 
through  all  the  vicissitudes  to  which  he  is  exposed. 
An  utterly  selfish  boy,  for  instance,  is  usually  a  self 
ish  man ;  and  a  child  of  generous  and  noble  impulses, 
no  matter  to  what  depravity  in  other  respects  he  may 
descend,  generally  retains  these  characteristics  to  the 
last.  So  Washington  had  as  high  a  sense  of  honor 


28  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

when  a  boy  as  when  a  man,  and  was  just  as  generous 
and  noble  in  his  feelings  at  sixteen,  as  at  forty  ;  but  in 
other  respects  he  was  totally  different.     When  sixty 
years  of  age,  repose  and  calm  dignity  were  his  great 
peculiarities  ;  at  twenty,  ardor,  enthusiasm,  and  love  of 
adventure,  formed  his  chief  characteristics.     In  mature 
years,  peace  was  his  desire  and  delight;  while  in  earlier 
days  he  loved  the  excitement  of  war,  and  the  scope  it 
gave  to  his  untried  energies.     In  youth,  the  whistling 
of  bullets  was  music  to  his  ear;  but  in  riper  age  there 
was  no  sound  so  sweet  to  him  as  the  song  of  the  hus 
bandman.     Washington  might  have  been  just  as  good 
a  man,  though  never  so  great  a  one,  had  he  possessed 
the  same  mildness  and  quietness  of  character  in  his  child 
hood  that  marked  his  later  years.     A  certain  amount 
of  combativeness — destructiveness,   if  you  please — is 
absolutely  necessary  to  give  a  man  energy,  self-deter 
mination,  and  power.     Every  good   and   great  man, 
from  Moses  to  Paul,  and  Paul  to  Luther,  has  possessed 
it ;  much  more  every  wicked  or  ambitious  spirit,  which 
has  succeeded  in  changing  the  world.     A  warm  and 
fiery  heart  is  necessary  to  great  resolution  and  force. 
It  is  when  this  gets  the  mastery  over  the  moral  quali 
ties  and   over   the  judgment,  that  the   man  becomes 
unbalanced  and  renders  himself  either  depraved  or  un 
trustworthy.    Had  Washington  been  the  meek  and  gen 
tle  child  so  many  of  our  public  teachers  represent  him 
to  be,  he  would  never  have  preferred  the  adventurous 
life  of  a  midshipman  to  that  of  his  quiet  home  ; — or 
the  marshalling  into  companies  his  young  playmates  in 
mimic  battle,  or  afterwards,  the  vigorous  leap  and  stern 
wrestle  to  the  more  innocent  sports  of  the  fireside  and 


HIS     LOVE     OF     EXCITEMENT.  29 

company  of  gentler  children.  The  truth  is,  George 
Washington  was  a  boy  of  ardent  and  fiery  feelings,  and 
a  youth  of  strong  and  terrible  passions.  The  military 
spirit,  so  conspicuous  in  the  lad  of  fifteen  years  of  age, 
reveals  the  temper  of  the  steel  that  was  afterwards  so 
severely  tried.  His  favorite  sport,  which  was  to  ar 
range  his  companies  into  columns  of  attack  and  himself 
lead  them  to  the  charge,  did  not  indicate  any  natural 
love  of  war,  but  simply  a  spirit  of  fire  and  force.  His 
athletic  sports  and  the  character  of  his  amusements, 
show  even  at  this  early  age  the  surplus  energy  he 
possessed,  and  which  must  out  in  some  way.  This 
sent  him  off,  when  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  into  the 
Alleghany  mountains,  as  surveyor.  The  wild  bivouac 
in  the  forest,  the  swimming  of  rivers,  and  climbing  of 
precipices  and  surmounting  of  difficulties,  suited  well 
his  adventurous  spirit.  Now  planting  his  compass  on 
some  mountain  ridge,  performing  his  duties  with  the 
skill  and  industry  of  the  most  laborious  mathematician, 
and  now  sitting  and  musing  over  his  "  lowland  beauty," 
and  inditing  verses  to  her  in  order  to  give  vent  to  his 
passion;  the  noble  young  dreamer  presents  a  perfect 
specimen  of  what  a  youth  should  be— full  of  enthusiasm, 
feeling,  and  daring;  and  full,  too,  of  application  and  seri 
ous  thought.  Cool  and  correct  in  judgment,  yet  quick 
in  his  impulses;  methodical  and  clear  in  all  his  business 
arrangements,  yet  bold  and  fearless  in  danger,  he  pos 
sessed  the  basis  of  a  strong  and  elevated  character. 
None  but  a  man  of  immense  energy  and  great  courage 
would  have  undertaken  as  he  did,  at  twenty-one  years 
of  age,  to  go  as  a  commissioner,  accompanied  only  by 
seven  men,  seven  hundred  miles,  half  the  way  through 

3* 


30  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

an  untrodden  forest,  to  the  French  commandant  on  the 
Ohio  river.  It  is  a  perfect  wonder  that  a  stripling  of 
his  years  should  have  shown  such  perseverance  and 
skill,  and  calm  endurance  and  forethought,  as  he  did, 
during  the  forty-one  days  he  was  engaged  in  this  peril 
ous  enterprise. 

But  it  was  in  the  next  year,  when  a  lieutenant-colonel, 
he  marched  back  into  the  wilderness  and  attacked  the 
French,  that  his  love  of  the  excitement  of  battle  most 
strongly  exhibited  itself.  At  the  head  of  only  three 
companies,  he  continued  his  difficult  march  until  he 
came  to  the  Great  Meadows,  where  he  was  informed 
by  the  Half  King  Tanacharison,  his  friend,  that  the 
French  were  encamped  within  a  few  miles  of  him.  He 
immediately  put  himself  at  the  head  of  forty  men,  and 
set  off  to  the  Indian  camp,  six  miles  distant.  It  was  a 
dark  night  in  the  latter  part  of  May,  when  he  started 
in  search  of  his  first  battle.  The  sky  was  as  black  as 
the  forest,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  drench 
ing  the  little  band  to  their  skins,  and  they  stumbled  on 
over  logs  and  rocks,  and  knocked  their  muskets  against 
the  trees  as  they  groped  about  to  find  their  way.  The 
pattering  of  the  rain-drops  on  the  tree-tops  above,  and 
their  constant  dripping  on  the  foliage  below,  were  the 
only  sounds  that  broke  the  stillness  around,  save  when 
the  musket-barrel  of  some  poor  fellow,  stumbling  in 
the  gloom,  rung  against  a  tree  or  rock  ;  or  the  low 
word  of  command  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  intrepid 
leader  who  strode  on  in  advance.  They  were  all  night 
long  going  the  six  miles,  and  at  sunrise  arrived  at  the 
Indian  camp.  There,  uniting  with  the  friendly  savages, 
they  marched  in  Indian  file  through  the  forest,  and  fell 


HIS     COURAGE.  31 

like  a  thunder-clap  on  the  astonished  French.  After 
a  sharp  skirmish  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  in  which  the 
French  commander  and  ten  of  his  men  were  killed, 
the  whole  of  the  remainder  were  taken  prisoners. 
This  was  Washington's  first  engagement,  and  the  kind 
of  feeling  he  carried  into  it,  and  indeed  brought  out  of 
it,  may  be  inferred  from  his  own  language.  In  a  letter 
home,  said  he,  "  /  heard  the  bullets  whistle,  and  believe 
me,  there  is  something  charming  in  the  sound."  There 
spoke  the  bold  young  warrior,  to  whom  the  rattle  of 
musketry  and  thunder  of  artillery  are  the  music  that  his 
stern  soul  loves. 

This  was  the  commencement  of  the  French  and  In 
dian  war,  and  Washington  has  been  severely  con 
demned  by  French  writers  for  his  attack  on  Junon- 
ville  ;  and  the  slaughter  of  the  latter  and  his  men  been 
termed  a  massacre,  but  the  former  simply  obeyed  or 
ders,  and  did  what  he  was  expressly  sent  into  the  wil 
derness  to  do ;  repelled  the  invaders  of  the  soil. 

But  it  was  at  Braddock's  defeat  that  he  exhibited 
those  striking  qualities  which  form  the  great  com 
mander,  and  that  cool  intrepidity  and  reckless  daring 
for  which  he  was  distinguished.  Joined  as  aid-de 
camp  to  Braddock,  he  started  on  this  fatal  expedition, 
which,  though  disastrous  to  its  commander,  added  fresh 
laurels  to  Washington.  Taken  sick  on  the  way,  he 
was  left  behind,  but  in  his  eagerness  to  be  present  at 
the  approaching  battle,  he  started  on  while  still  an 
invalid,  and  joined  Braddock  the  evening  before  it 
took  place.  The  details  of  this  fight,  the  blind  and 
obstinate  adherence  of  the  British  commander  to  his 
European  tactics,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  remon- 


32  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

strance  of  Washington,  the  ambuscade  and  the  terrible 
slaughter  that  followed,  are  familiar  to  every  one. 
That  morning,  as  Washington  gazed  on  the  British  col 
umns,  moving  in  beautiful  order  to  the  sound  of  stirring 
music  along  the  banks  of  the  Monongahela,  the  gentle 
river  on  one  side  and  the  green  forest  on  the  other, 
while  the  beams  of  the  uprisen  sun  were  sent  back  in 
dazzling  splendor  from  the  nearly  two  thousand  steel 
bayonets  that  shook  in  their  light,  his  eye  flashed  with 
delight.  He  was  often  heard  to  say  it  was  the  most 
glorious  spectacle  he  ever  beheld.  He  was  at  this  time 
23  years  old,  six  feet  two  or  three  inches  high,  and 
strongly  made.  Full  of  fire  and  unconscious  of  fear, 
he  thought  of  the  approaching  fray  only  with  the  joy 
of  the  warrior.  As  he  had  predicted,  the  army  fell 
into  an  ambuscade.  As  the  advanced  party  of  three 
hundred  men  were  ascending  a  hill,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  a  ravine,  in  which  lay  the  enemy,  they  found 
themselves  suddenly  encircled  by  a  girdle  of  flame.  So 
close  and  deadly  was  the  fire,  that  the  soldiers  could 
not  bear  up  against  it,  and  after  a  few  vollies  broke 
and  fled  down  the  hill.  Falling  on  the  columns  and 
artillery  below,  they  threw  them  also  into  confusion, 
and  the  whole  army  became  a  disordered  multitude, 
driven  hither  and  thither,  while  whole  ranks  were  fall 
ing  at  every  discharge.  In  this  dilemma,  Braddock 
prohibited  the  Virginia  regiment  from  placing  them 
selves  behind  trees  and  fighting  the  Indians  in  their 
own  way,  and  began  to  order  up  his  men  in  platoons, 
and  wheel  them  into  close  columns,  as  he  had  been  ac 
customed  to  do  on  the  plains  of  Europe.  Young 
Washington  gazed  with  indignation  on  this  sacrifice  of 


BATTLE     OF     MONONGAHELA.  33 

life,  and  without  the  power  to  order  a  single  company, 
stood  and  saw  his  brave  Virginians  fall.  At  length 
Braddock  was  struck  down,  and  his  two  aids  borne 
wounded  from  the  fight,  leaving  Washington  alone  to 
distribute  orders.  Here  his  military  qualities  shone 
forth  in  their  greatest  splendor.  Galloping  through 
the  disordered  host,  his  tall  and  commanding  form  tow 
ered  amid  the  smoke  of  battle,  and  presented  a  constant 
mark  to  the  sharp-shooters.  Men  were  falling  like 
grass  on  every  side  of  him,  yet  reckless  of  danger,  he 
spurred  his  steed  over  the  dead  and  dying  alike,  strain 
ing  every  nerve  to  stay  the  reversed  tide  of  battle. 
At  length  his  horse  sunk  under  him,  and  he  fell  amid 
his  wounded  and  dead  companions.  Springing  on  the 
back  of  another,  he  pressed  amid  the  throng,  pointing 
in  this  and  that  direction  with  his  sword,  and  sending  his 
calm  and  resolute  voice  amid  the  frightened  ranks,  but 
without  avail.  A  second  horse  fell  beneath  him,  and  he 
leaped  to  the  saddle  of  a  third,  while  the  bullets  rained 
like  hail-stones  about  him.  Four  passed  through  his 
coat,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  a  sure  mark  for  the  In 
dian  rifles  as  he  thus  rode  from  point  to  point.  But  he 
seemed  to  possess  a  charmed  life  ;  for  while  nearly  half 
the  entire  army  that  had  three  hours  before  crossed  the 
Monongahela  in  such  beautiful  order  and  proud  array, 
had  sunk  on  the  bloody  field,  and  three-fourths  of  the 
whole  eighty-seven  officers  were  dead  or  wounded,  he 
still  remained  unhurt.  Cool  as  a  rock,  his  inward  ex 
citement  was  mastered  by  his  judgment,  and  he  gal 
loped  hither  and  thither  as  calmly  as  if  on  a  parade. 
Absorbed  in  the  fate  of  the  army,  and  intent  only  on 
saving  it,  he  seemed  to  forget  he  had  a  life  to  lose. 


34  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

Amid  the  thunder  of  artillery,  the  roar  of  musketry, 
the  wild  war-whoop  of  the  Indian,  and  the  ranks  melting 
like  frost-work  around  him,  he  never  once  lost  his  self- 
composure.  One  would  have  thought  he  had  been  tried 
on  a  hundred  battle-fields,  to  see  the  daring  and  firm 
ness  with  which  he  endeavored  to  stem  the  panic,  in 
stead  of  being,  as  he  was,  in  his  first  field-fight.  The 
officers  around  him  struggled  bravely,  charging  together 
like  common  infantry,  to  stimulate  their  men  to  bear  up 
against  the  storm,  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  The  wreck 
of  the  army  rolled  tumultuously  towards  the  river  and 
over  it.  A  rapid  and  disastrous  retreat  back  to  the 
settlements  followed. 

As  Washington,  during  this  engagement,  was  riding 
through  the  broken  ranks,  his  tall  person  on  horseback 
presented  such  a  fair  mark  for  a  bullet,  that  an  old  In 
dian  chief  took  deliberate  aim  at  him  several  times,  and 
bade  his  warriors  do  the  same.  But  after  a  while, 
finding  that  none  of  their  shots  took  effect,  they  ceased 
firing  at  him,  believing  him  to  be  under  the  protection 
of  the  Great  Spirit.  Years  afterwards  this  old  chief 
came  a  long  journey  to  "  pay  homage  to  the  man  who 
was  the  particular  favorite  of  Heaven,  and  who  could 
never  die  in  battle." 

Washington  was  not  only  cool  in  the  hour  of  danger 
and  utterly  destitute  of  fear,  but  often  impetuous,  and 
sometimes  apparently  reckless.  He  furnishes  a  striking 
exhibition  of  this  in  the  severe  flogging  he  once  gave  a 
man  who  was  trespassing  on  his  plantation.  This  fellow 
was  a  thieving,  lawless  character,  and  was  accustomed 
to  come  in  his  canoe  across  the  Potomac,  and  landing  in 
some  sheltered  nook,  hunt  over  the  grounds  of  Mount 


FLOGS     A     POACHER.  35 

Vernon.  Washington  was  aware  of  this,  and  had  fre 
quently  reproved  him  for  his  conduct,  and  warned  him 
to  cease,  but  to  no  purpose.  One  day,  therefore,  hearing 
a  gun  in  the  distance,  he  sprang  into  his  saddle,  and  rode 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  The  poacher  was  on  the 
look-out,  and  seeing  Washington  approach,  ran  -  for  his 
canoe,  and  had  just  pushed  it  from  the  shore  when  the 
latter  rode  up.  Raising  his  gun,  he  took  deliberate  aim 
at  Washington,  expecting  to  daunt  him ;  but,  without 
stopping  to  think,  the  latter  dashed  up  to  the  cul 
prit,  and  seizing  his  canoe,  dragged  it  ashore.  He  then 
disarmed  him,  and  gave  him  a  thorough  cow-skinning, 
which  effectually  cured  his  thieving  propensities. 
Many,  no  doubt,  would  condemn  such  a  summary  pun 
ishment  of  a  thief;  but  it  must  be  remembered  this  was 
in  Washington's  younger  days,  and  that  the  daring  and 
resolution  which  prompted  him  thus  to  seize  and  punish 
a  desperate  character,  with  a  loaded  gun  in  his  hands, 
and  raised  in  the  act  to  fire,  were  the  same  that  sent 
him  like  a  thunderbolt  into  the  hottest  of  the  fight,  car 
rying  destruction  in  his  path  as  he  cheered  on  the  sol 
diers  to  the  charge.  It  was  hard  to  rouse  him,  but 
when  his  anger  was  up,  it  was  the  more  terrible,  from 
the  very  strength  against  which  it  had  risen.  Thus,  at 
Kipp's  Bay,  in  New  York,  during  his  retreat  to  Har- 
laem  Heights,  it  broke  over  all  bounds.  The  new 
levies  stationed  to  support  this  point  fled,  and  the  two 
brigades  ordered  up,  broke  and  fled  also  at  the  advance 
of  only  sixty  men.  Washington,  astonished  and  indig 
nant  at  such  cowardice,  rode  in  among  them,  and 
endeavored  to  rally  and  lead  them  back.  Finding  all 
his  efforts  vain,  his  indignation  burst  forth  like  a  torrent, 


36  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

and  he  spurred  upon  them  with  his  drawn  sword,  and 
snapped  his  pistol  in  their  faces.  Finding  all  this  of  no 
avail,  with  his  lip  curled  in  scorn  and  his  blue  eye  flash 
ing  fire,  he  wheeled  and  halted  alone  in  front  of  the 
enemy,  and  there,  like  Murat  before  the  Russian  battery, 
stood  and  let  the  bullets  whistle  about  him.  At  length 
one  of  his  attendants,  alarmed  for  his  safety,  seized  the 
horse  by  the  head,  and  turned  him  off  the  field.  So  at 
Germantown,  finding  his  troops  hard  pressed,  he  rode 
into  the  very  vortex  of  battle,  where  the  shot  fell  like 
hail  about  him.  His  friends  urged  him  away,  but  in  a 
few  moments  that  tall  form  was  again  seen  enveloped 
in  smoke,  and  no  power  could  stir  him  from  the  deadly 
fire,  till  his  men  began  to  retreat.  At  Monmouth, 
where  he  burst  in  such  stern  wrath  on  Lee,  and  amid 
the  thunder  of  artillery  and  shouts  of  the  victorious 
pursuers,  rallied  his  broken  ranks,  and  rolled  back  the 
tide  of  battle  with  his  mighty  arm,  he  exhibits  both  the 
impetuosity  of  his  character  and  that  cool  and  deter 
mined  bravery  which  made  him  such  a  fearful  antago 
nist  in  the  field.  At  Princeton,  too,  he  performed  one 
of  those  heroic  deeds  which  spring  impulsively  from  a 
soul  on  fire  with  daring,  and  carried  away  by  a  sudden 
and  lofty  enthusiasm.  Stealing  by  night  from  the 
overwhelming  English  army,  he  came  in  the  morning 
upon  three  regiments  marching  out  of  town,  which  he 
must  break  in  pieces,  or  be  ruined.  In  the  very  heat 
and  crisis  of  battle,  seeing  his  men  begin  to  waver  and 
break,  he  snatched  a  standard,  and  plunging  the  rowels 
in  his  steed,  spurred  midway  between  the  contending 
lines,  and,  with  his  manly  breast  turned  full  on  the  foe, 
said,  in  language  more  eloquent  than  words,  "  Follow 


HIS     HEROISM.  37 

your  General"    No  finer  subject  can  be  found  for  the 
pencil  of  genius  than  he  presents  as  he  sits  on  his  proud 
war-horse,  midway  between  the  vollies  of  his  friends 
and  foes,  with  the  banner  of  his  country  waving  its  folds 
about  his  splendid  form.     I  do  not  believe  that  Wash 
ington  knew   the   sensation   of  fear.     There  was  no 
amount  of  danger  that  could  daunt  him,  and  the  great 
exposure  of  his  person  in  battle  was  a  source  of  con 
stant  anxiety  to  his  friends.     Circumstances  made  him 
the  American  Fabius,  while  nature  designed  him  for 
a  far  different  warrior.     Had  he  in  his  youth  com 
manded  in  the  French  army,  he  would  have  been  one 
of  the  most  terrible  men  in  an  onset,  and  the  steadiest, 
coolest   in  repelling  an  assault  that  ever  led  a  host 
to    battle.      Like    Ney,    he   v/ould   have    hurled    his 
columns  on  the  foe  with  a  strength  and  majesty  no 
thing  could  withstand,  while,  in  the  height  of  a  panic 
and  in  the  midst  of  his  flying  troops,  he  would  have 
stood  as  calm  and  self-collected  and  fearless  as  he  did 
on   the   bloody  field   of  Monongahela.     But   circum 
stances  placed  him  in  a  position  where  caution  and 
hesitation  and  delays  were  indispensable.     Those  mis 
take  who  suppose  his  slowness  in  coming  to  an  engage 
ment,  and  his  great  prudence,  were  the  result  of  his 
inclination.     He  dared  not  hazard  everything  on  a  sin 
gle  throw,  where  not  himself  but  his  country,  and  the 
hopes  of  freedom  would  be  the  stake  at  issue.     More 
over,  he  had  not  the  means  to  make  a  bold  push  with. 
Had  he  possessed  a  small  army,  composed  of  such  ma 
terials  as  those  which  the  young  Bonaparte  found  in 
the  army  of  Italy,  he  would  not  have  stood  merely  on 
the  defensive  so  long  as  he  did.     But  without  ammu 

4 


38  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

nition, — without  discipline, — indeed,  without  thorough 
organization, — his  troops  could  not  be  relied  on,  and 
he  knew  it.  As  it  was,  he  frequently  went  into  bat 
tle  with  only  a  few  rounds  of  ammunition  to  each  man. 
His  judgment  forced  him  to  the  cautious  course  he 
pursued,  though  at  first  he  chafed  like  a  lion  in  the 
toils.  Said  he  once,  in  referring  to  his  difficulties,  and 
the  disinclination  of  the  soldiers  whose  term  of  service 
had  expired,  to  re-enlist,  "Could  I  have  known  that 
such  backwardness  would  have  been  discovered  by  the 
old  soldiers  to  the  service,  all  the  generals  upon  earth 
would  not  have  convinced  me  of  the  propriety  of  delay 
ing  an  attack  on  Boston  till  this  time"  And  again, 
writing  in  the  bitterness  and  even  irritation  of  his  great 
heart,  as  he  still  lies  inactive  around  Boston,  he  says, 
"  I  know  the  unhappy  predicament  in  which  I  stand. 
I  know  what  is  expected  of  me ;  I  know  that  I  cannot 
stand  justified  to  the  world  without  exposing  my  own 
weakness,  and  injuring  the  cause  by  declaring  my  wants, 
which  I  am  determined  not  to  do  farther  than  una 
voidable  necessity  brings  every  man  acquainted  with 
them.  My  situation  is  so  irksome  to  me  at  times,  that 
if  I  did  not  consult  the  public  good  more  than  my  own 
tranquillity,  /  should  long  ere  this  have  put  every  thing 
on  the  cast  of  a  die."  That  is,  had  it  been  a  matter  of 
simple  reputation  with  him,  he  would  have  ended  the 
suspense  he  endured  by  one  of  those  desperate  move 
ments  that  make  or  ruin  a  man  forever.  But  his  judg 
ment  and  his  conscience  both  held  firm  sway  over  his 
feelings,  and  guided  him  in  the  only  safe  course  he 
could  have  gone. 

But  if  his  impetuosity  was  great  and  his  passions 


HIS     SELF-CONTROL.  39 

strong,  his  self-control  was  still  stronger.  Violent 
passions  and  ardent  feelings  are  seldom  found  united 
with  complete  self-command  ;  but  when  they  are,  they 
form  the  strongest  possible  character,  for  there  is  all 
the  power  of  clear  thought  and  cool  judgment  im 
pelled  by  the  resistless  energy  of  feeling.  This  com 
bination  Washington  possessed  ;  for  in  his  impetuosity 
there  was  no  foolish  rashness,  and  in  his  passion  no 
injustice.  Besides,  whatever  violence  there  might  be 
within,  the  explosion  seldom  came  to  the  surface,  and 
when  it  did,  it  was  arrested  at  once  by  the  stern  man 
date  of  his  will.  He  never  lost  the  mastery  of  himself 
in  any  emergency,  and  in  "  ruling  his  spirit,"  showed 
himself  greater  than  in  "  taking  a  city."  Even  in  his 
adventurous  youth  'he  exhibits  this  same  self-rule,  and 
his  judgment  ever  sits  enthroned  above  his  impulses. 
It  is  one  of  the  astonishing  things  in  his  life,  that,  amid 
the  perfect  chaos  of  feeling  into  which  he  was  thrown — 
amid  the  distracted  counsels  and  still  more  distracted 
affairs  that  surrounded  him — he  never  once  lost  the 
perfect  equilibrium  of  his  own  mind.  The  contagion 
of  fear,  and  doubt,  and  despair,  could  not  touch  him. 
He  did  not  seem  susceptible  to  the  common  influences 
which  affect  men.  His  soul,  poised  on  its  own  centre, 
reposed  calmly  there  through  all  the  storms  that  beat 
for  seven  years  on  his  noble  breast.  The  ingratitude 
and  folly  of  those  who  should  have  been  his  allies,  the 
insults  of  his  foes,  and  the  frowns  of  fortune,  never 
provoked  him  into  a  rash  act,  or  deluded  him  into  a 
single  error. 

His  constancy  and  firmness  were  equal  to  his  self- 
control.     The  changeless  aspect  and  steadfast  heart  he 


40  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

maintained  during  those  seven  years  of  trouble  and 
gloom  which  make  up  the  history  of  the  American 
Revolution,  will  be  a  wonder  to  the  end  of  time.  Cast 
down  by  no  reverses,  elated  by  no  successes,  he  could 
be  neither  driven  into  despondency  or  carried  away 
by  extravagant  hopes.  It  is  one  of  the  remarkable 
traits  in  his  character,  that  he  never  would  stay  beaten. 
You  might  drive  him  from  post  to  post,  diminish  and 
dishearten  his  army  till  only  a  handful  were  left  around 
him,  he  showed  the  same  firm  presence  and  unalterable 
resolution.  Defeat  never  affected  him,  and  his  voice  of 
hope  sounded  just  as  clear  and  cheerful  though  nothing 
but  murmurs  and  complaints  filled  the  land.  Thus,  just 
before  the  close  of  the  disastrous  campaign  of  1776,  that 
most  critical  period  of  the  whole  war,  when  a  gene 
ral  gloom  hung  over  the  continent,  and  panic  and  de 
spair  were  on  every  side,  his  constancy  never  shook. 
Instead  of  beating  back  the  enemy,  we  ourselves  had 
been  beaten  back  at  every  point.  Rhode  Island,  Long 
Island,  Staten  Island,  New  York,  and  nearly  all  of  New 
Jersey,  were  in  possession  of  the  enemy,  who  were 
now  moving  down  on  Philadelphia.  City  after  city 
had  been  captured,  and  nothing  seemed  able  to  resist 
their  progress.  Fort  after  fort  had  fallen.  Lee  had 
been  taken  prisoner,  and  the  army,  dwindled  from 
twenty  thousand  to  four  thousand,  was  closely  pursued 
by  Cornwallis.  In  the  midst  of  these  disasters,  Gene 
ral  Howe  issued  a  proclamation,  offering  pardon  to  all 
who  would  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  within  sixty 
days.  Crowds,  and  among  them  men  of  wealth  and 
influence,  accepted  the  terms  ;  and  the  panic  spreading, 
all  seemed  lost.  Yet  even  in  this  crisis,  Washington 


HIS     CONSTANCY     AND     FIRMNESS.  41 

never  wavered  for  a  moment.  Calm  and  serene,  he 
surveyed  the  troubled  night  about  him,  with  his  eye 
fixed  steadily  on  the  deepening  gloom,  and  even  lifted 
his  voice  of  encouragement,  declaring  that  he  saw  the 
morning  beyond  it  all.  And  when  asked  what  he 
would  do  if  Philadelphia  should  be  taken,  replied,  "  We 
will  retreat  beyond  the  Susquehannah ;  and  thence  if 
necessary  to  the  Alleghany  mountains"  No  sublimer 
speech  ever  fell  from  ancient  or  modern  hero.  En 
compassed  by  perils,  from  which  no  eye  could  see  a 
way  of  escape,  deserted  by  his  soldiers  till  only  the 
shadow  of  an  army  remained  to  him,  and  chased  by  a 
victorious  and  overwhelming  foe,  he  still  rose  superior 
to  all.  He  showed  the  same  cheerful  countenance 
to  his  few  remaining  followers,  breathed  the  same 
words  of  hope  to  the  House  of  Congress  that  he  did  in 
the  hour  of  prosperity.  Oh,  "  he  was  a  strong  man  in 
the  dark  perils  of  war ;  in  the  high  places  of  the  field 
hope  shone  in  him  like  a  pillar  of  fire  when  it  had 
gone  out  in  all  other  men" 

But  doubtless  the  trials  which  tested  his  firmness 
most,  were  those  which  we  are  least  able  to  appreciate. 
Those  outward  public  calamities  which  all  can  see,  and 
in  which  we  know  we  have  the  sympathies  of  the 
good,  can  be  more  easily  borne  than  ingratitude,  in 
justice,  suspicion,  and  slander  from  those  we  are  striv 
ing  to  benefit.  As  we  have  seen,  when  Washington  first 
took  command  of  the  army  at  Cambridge,  he  found 
himself  surrounded  with  difficulties  from  which  he 
could  not  possibly  extricate  himself.  The  troops  but 
scantily  supplied  with  provisions  and  clothing,  and 
having  but  nine  cartridges  apiece,  were  enlisted  only 

4* 


42  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

for  a  short  time,  and  there,  right  in  presence  of  the 
enemy,  he  saw  one  disband  and  another  form.  In  this 
state,  while  his  inactivity  was  complained  of  on  all 
sides,  he  was  not  only  forced,  in  order  to  prevent 
greater  calamities,  to  conceal  the  destitution  and  inca 
pacity  of  his  troops  from  the  enemy,  but  also  from  his 
own  countrymen  and  even  his  officers.  He  knew  the 
difficulties  he  could  withstand  would  discourage,  if  not 
drive  to  despair,  less  resolute  hearts.  He  bore  all  in 
silence,  sustained  by  his  conscious  integrity  and  his 
patriotism.  So  also  amid  the  cabals  formed  against 
him,  the  lies  and  letters  circulated  about  him ;  the  jea 
lousy  even  of  Congress,  lest  too  much  power  would.be 
allowed  to  concentrate  in  his  hands ;  amid  the  open 
accusations  and  implied  doubts  of  his  virtue  and  ability, 
he  moved  calmly  yet  resolutely  on.  Even  Congress, 
his  last  sole  reliance,  by  its  promises  unfulfilled,  its 
doubts,  its  hesitations,  and  want  of  confidence,  some 
times  seemed  resolved  to  drive  him  to  anger  and  despair. 
Yet  he  exhibited  neither  ;  he  spurred  up  the  sluggishness 
of  the  members  by  cheering  words,  removed  their  doubts 
by  reason  and  facts,  and  shamed  them  out  of  their  dis 
trust  by  those  noble  sentiments  and  elevated  principles 
which  every  one  knew  came  from  his  heart.  This 
fortitude  under  calamities,  firm  courage  in  the  midst 
of  reverses,  and  unshaken  constancy  in  every  trial 
to  which  human  nature  is  subjected,  prove  him  to 
have  possessed  a  soul  of  amazing  strength,  and  a  faith 
in  the  right  never  surpassed.  As  I  behold  him  with 
the  army  around  Boston,  endeavoring  to  bring  order 
out  of  chaos  and  strength  out  of  weakness,  bearing  pa 
tiently  the  complaints  and  even  taunts  which  he  knew 


HIS     SWAY     OVER     OTHERS.  43 

his  country,  ignorant  of  his  weakness,  was  raining  on 
him  ;  or  slowly  retreating  before  the  victorious  enemy  at 
New  York,  while  his  own  brave  heart  panted  for  the 
onset — or  eating  his  rude  meal  in  a  log  cabin  at  Valley 
Forge,  whither  he  had  led  his  army  barefoot  over  the 
frozen  ground ;  or  breaking  in  sudden  terror  on  the  foe  ; 
or  smiling  serenely  on  a  free  people  intoxicated  with 
joy,  and  hailing  him  Father  !  Saviour  !  Deliverer !  or 
at  last  calmly  gazing  into  that  dread  eternity  on  whose 
threshold  he  feels  his  footsteps  pressing,  I  am  lost  in  ad 
miration  at  his  unwavering  constancy  and  the  grandeur 
of  his  character.  He  is  not  the  thunderbolt  launched 
from  the  sky,  arresting  and  startling  every  beholder,  but 
the  ocean  tide  in  its  calm,  majestic,  and  resistless  flow. 
Another  striking  trait  in  Washington's  character 
was  the  sway  he  exercised  over  all  other  men.  The 
good  yielded  him  that  deference  which  noble  hearts 
always  render  to  transcendent  virtue,  while  the  bad 
had  that  awe  of  him  which  vice  ever  has  of  goodness. 
Thus  Lafayette  revered  and  loved  him,  and  bound 
himself,  soul  and  body,  to  his  fortunes.  The  revenge 
ful  and  conspiring  Conway,  thinking  his  last  hour  has 
come,  writes  to  him  from  his  bed  of  pain : — "  My  career 
will  soon  be  over,  therefore  justice  and  truth  prompt 
me  to  declare  my  last  sentiments,  *  You  are  in  my  eyes 
the  great  and  good  man?  "  One  secret  of  his  power 
was  his  dignified  composure.  No  one  approached  him 
without  being  awed  by  his  demeanor.  His  tall  and 
commanding  person  was  well  adapted  to  the  calm, 
almost  severe  majesty  of  his  deportment.  In  that  color 
less  face  and  in  those  blue  eyes  was  a  world  of  slumber 
ing  energy.  His  gigantic  proportions  indicated  his 


44  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

overwhelming  physical  strength ;  and  when  mounted 
on  horseback,  among  his  officers,  his  appearance  was 
imposing  in  the  extreme,  and  every  eye  followed  him 
as  he  moved.  Like  Saul  amid  his  brethren,  he  was 
head  and  shoulders  above  them  all,  and  seemed  the 
impersonation  of  physical  power.  Under  his  stalwart 
arm,  the  strongest  went  down,  and  few  men  could  span 
his  massive  hand.  Before  a  man  of  such  a  presence 
and  such  a  soul,  no  wonder  the  most  rash  or  impetuous 
was  sobered.  But  it  would  be  folly  to  suppose  that 
mere  manner  could  effect  so  much  ;  this  was  but  the 
symbol  of  his  character.  His  composure  inspired  awe, 
because  it  was  not  the  composure  of  sluggishness,  of 
immobility,  but  of  reposing  strength.  The  calmness 
of  a  far-reaching  and  resolute  mind  is  always  more  ter 
rible  than  the  fiercest  energy.  The  consciousness  that 
it  sees  and  understands  without  being  disturbed,  and 
will  perform  its  secret  purpose  without  tumult  or  wa 
vering,  cannot  but  awaken  awe,  for  there  is  not  only 
power  but  the  mystery  of  its  working.  Men  fear  to 
awaken  energy  that  is  hard  to  be  roused,  but  they 
dread  still  more  that  power  which  will  do  its  decree 
without  suffering  itself  to  be  moved  from  its  compo 
sure. 

The  control  which  Washington  held  over  others 
was  all  this  and  yet  something  more.  This  character 
istic  was  as  strong  in  his  joyous  and  unshackled  child 
hood,  and  open-hearted,  boisterous  youth,  as  in  his  se 
date  manhood.  In  wrestling,  leaping,  and  pitching  the 
bar,  and  in  the  familiarity  of  forest  life,  where  all  for 
mality  and  all  reserve  disappear,  he  maintained  his 
ascendency.  Even  in  his  early  military  career,  when 


HIS     INFLUENCE     OVER     OTHERS.  45 

a  subordinate   in   command,   he   was   treated   with   a 
respect   and   deference  far   above  his   station.      This 
doubtless,  in  the  former  case,  was  owing  somewhat,  to 
his  superior  physical  strength  in  athletic  games ;  and  in 
the  latter,  to  his  boiling  courage  and  chivalric  action 
in  battle,  but  still  more  to  the  superiority  of  his  mind. 
A  great  and  comprehensive  mind,  which  seems  both 
to  understand  and  embrace  those  about  it,  must  of  ne 
cessity  exert  great  sway.     There  is  no  need  of  enter 
ing  into  the  elements  of  its  power ;  its  very  relation 
presupposes  it ;  so  that  a  sufficient  explanation  of  Wash 
ington's  influence  over  others  is  found  in  his  simple 
superiority  as  a  man,  both  mentally  and  morally.    Great 
reserve  at  times,  noticed  so  much  in  Bonaparte,  Crom 
well,  Washington,  and  others,  is,  after  all,  not  so  much 
an  element  of  power  as  an  attribute  of  it.    It  is  natural, 
not  assumed ;  and  in  the  consciousness  of  that  very 
fact  by  others,  rests  the  secret  of  its  strength.     There 
are  moments  when  every  great  mind  lays  aside  its 
familiarity  and  retires  within  its  own  domain,  not  to 
inspire  awe,  but  because  its  own  grand  thoughts  and 
purposes  are  too  elevated  and  important  to  be  subjected 
to  the  narrow  views  and  prejudices  of  others,  and  also 
because  they  subdue  and  engross  itself.     To  suppose 
that  Washington,  when  the  fate  of  a  nation  was  in  his 
keeping,  and  affairs  as  multiplied  as  they  were  momen 
tous   occupied   his   thoughts,  would   be  talkative  and 
familiar,  is  preposterous.     A  man's  occupations  always 
affect  his  manners  ;  a  ruler  becomes  haughty — a  war 
rior  stern  and  decided ;  and  a  man  pressed  down  with 
immense  burdens,  and  entrusted  with  vast  responsibili 
ties,  reserved  and  silent.     Washington  underwent  this 


46  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

change,  and  it  is  seen  even  in  his  style  of  writing.  In 
youth,  ardent  and  generous,  he  wrote  with  spirit  and 
enthusiasm;  in  maturer  years,  he  learned  to  guard 
his  expressions,  lest  they  should  betray  him  into  some 
error.  Thus,  when  twenty-two  years  of  age,  in  writing 
to  the  Governor  of  Virginia  respecting  the  increase  of 
the  pay  of  the  officers,  he  says,  after  stating  the  facts, 
"  I  would  not  have  you  imagine  from  this  that  I  have 
said  all  these  things  to  have  our.  pay  increased,  but  to 
justify  myself,  and  to  show  that  our  complaints  are  not 
frivolous,  but  founded  on  strict  reason.  For  my  own 
part,  it  is  a  matter  almost  indifferent  whether  I  serve 
for  full  pay  or  as  a  generous  volunteer.  Indeed,  did 
my  circumstances  correspond  with  my  inclinations,  I 
should  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  prefer  the  latter,  for 
the  motives  that  led  me  are  pure  and  noble."  So  also 
the  same  year,  when  the  expedition  under  Braddock 
was  fitting  out,  and  the  army  underwent  modifications, 
by  which  he,  then  colonel,  was  reduced  to  the  rank  of 
a  captain,  he  immediately  threw  up  his  commission  and 
retired  from  the  army;  and  when  Governor  Sharpe, 
who  had  been  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the 
forces  destined  to  act  against  the  French,  wrote  to  him 
to  continue  in  his  station,  intimating  that  he  might  hold 
though  not  exercise  his  former  commission,  he  replied, 
"  Your  offer  has  filled  me  with  surprise ;  for  if  you 
think  me  capable  of  holding  a  commission  that  has 
neither  rank  nor  emolument  in  it,  you  must  entertain  a 
very  contemptible  opinion  of  my  weakness,  or  believe 
me  to  be  more  empty  than  the  commission  itself" 
This  was  short  and  tart  enough  for  the  young  Napo 
leon  himself.  So  also,  two  years  after,  then  twenty-four 


HIS     PATRIOTISM.  47 

years  of  age,  when  endeavoring  to  keep  back  the 
encroachments  of  the  Indians,  he  wrote  to  the  Governor, 
saying,  "Your  Honor  may  see  to  what  unhappy  straits 
the  distracted  inhabitants  and  myself  are  reduced.  I 
am  too  little  acquainted,  sir,  with  pathetic  language  to 
attempt  a  description  of  the  people's  distress,  though  I 
have  a  generous  soul,  sensible  of  wrong  and  swelling 
for  redress"  And  again :  "  The  supplicating  tears  of 
the  women,  and  moving  petitions  of  the  men,  melt  me 
into  such  deadly  sorrow,  that  I  solemnly  declare,  if  I 
know  my  own  mind,  I  could  offer  myself  a  willing 
sacrifice  to  the  butchering  enemy,  provided  that  would 
contribute  to  the  people's  ease."  This  is  the  frank  and 
undisguised  language  of  an  ardent  young  man,  whom 
great  responsibilities  and  years  sobered  down  into  more 
moderation  of  feeling  and  expression. 

Washington's  influence  over  others  was  not  confined 
to  those  immediately  about  his  person.  The  govern 
ment  itself  looked  to  him  for  counsel,  and  every  depart 
ment,  both  civil  and  military,  leaned  on  him.  He  had 
to  manage  his  army,  the  congress,  and  control  the 
authorities  of  the  separate  States.  To  do  this,  amid 
the  jealousies  and  suspicions  that  prevailed,  was  no 
slight  task.  His  power  was  nothing,  except  that  which 
lay  in  his  character  and  his  words  ;  yet  these  were 
sufficient  to  overcome  all  opposition.  This  influence 
he  never  lost  through  life ;  even  Jefferson,  his  strongest 
political  foe,  stood  in  awe  of  him.  It  did  not  end  with 
his  death,  and  there  is  no  man  whose  memory  is  so 
much  revered,  and  whose  reputation  even  his  foes  fear 
so  much  to  attack  as  his. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  his  character  was  his 


48  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

patriotism.  No  man  ever  before  rose  out  of  the  mass 
of  the  people  to  such  power  without  abusing  it,  and 
history  searches  in  vain  for  a  military  leader,  so  much 
of  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the  camp,  and  whose  will 
was  law  to  a  grateful  nation,  who  voluntarily  resigned 
his  rank  and  chose  the  humble,  peaceful  occupation  of  a 
farmer.  At  first  the  nation,  jealous  of  its  liberties,  was 
afraid  to  pass  so  much  power  into  his  hands ;  but  it 
soon  learned  that  he  watched  those  liberties  with  a 
more  anxious  eye  than  itself.  From  the  outset,  his 
honor  and  his  country  stood  foremost  in  his  affections ; 
the  first  he  guarded  with  scrupulous  care,  and  for  the 
last  he  offered  up  his  life  and  his  fortune.  His  pa 
triotism  was  so  pure,  so  unmixed  with  any  selfish  feel 
ing,  that  no  ingratitude,  or  suspicions  or  wrongs, 
could  for  a  moment  weaken  its  force.  It  was  like  the 
love  of  a  father  for  his  son,  notwithstanding  his  errors 
and  disobedience,  and  who  bends  over  him  with  that 
yearning  affection  which  will  still  believe  and  hope  on 
to  the  end.  Men  have  been  found  who  would  sacrifice 
their  lives  for  their  country,  and  yet  would  not  submit 
to  its  injustice  or  bear  with  its  ingratitude,  ignorance, 
and  follies.  Many  have  been  astonished  at  the  confi 
dence  of  Washington  even  in  his  darkest  hours  ;  but 
it  was  the  faith  of  strong  love.  On  the  nation's  heart, 
let  it  beat  never  so  wildly,  he  leaned  in  solemn  trust. 
Trace  his  career  from  its  outset  to  its  close,  and  love  of 
country  is  seen  to  rule  every  act,  Among  that  band  of 
patriots  who  stood  foremost  in  opposition  to  the  tyran 
nical  acts  of  Great  Britain  he  was  one  of  the  most  pro 
minent.  Side  by  side  with  Patrick  Henry,  Benjamin 
Franklin,  John  Adams,  Hancock,  and  others,  he  lifted 


HISPATRIOTISM.  49 

up  his  voice  and  arm  for  freedom.  Taking  sides  irre 
vocably  with  the  right,  from  that  time  he  is  ready  for 
any  sacrifice,  prepared  for  any  trial.  Speaking  of  the 
non-importation  act,  and  advocating  it,  he  says :  "  I  am 
convinced  there  is  no  relief  for  us  but  in  their  (Eng 
land's)  distress ;  and  I  think,  at  least  I  hope,  there  is 
virtue  enough  left  among  us  to  deny  ourselves  every 
thing  but  the  bare  necessaries  of  life  to  accomplish  this 
end.  This  we  have  a  right  to  do,  and  no  power  on 
earth  can  compel  us  to  do  otherwise  till  it  has  first  re 
duced  us  to  the  most  abject  state  of  slavery."  Measuring 
the  depth  of  suffering  into  which  his  country  must  be 
plunged  to  preserve  her  freedom,  he  cheerfully  steps 
into  it  himself.  He  commits  all  in  the  doubtful  strug 
gle,  and  lays  himself  first  on  the  altar  he  helps  to  rear. 
There  is  no  concealment,  no  reservation.  As  he  stands 
in  the  first  Congress,  he  stands  before  the  world.  To 
General  Gage,  commanding  at  Boston,  by  whose  side 
he  had  shouted  years  before  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Mo- 
nongahela,  he  uses  the  same  boldness  that  he  does  to  his 
friends,  and  winds  up  his  letter  with  a  prophecy  which 
after  years  proved  too  true.  "  Again,"  says  he,  "  give 
me  leave  to  add  as  my  opinion,  that  more  blood  will  be 
spilled  on  this  occasion,  if  the  ministry  are  determined 
to  push  matters  to  extremity,  than  history  has  ever  fur 
nished  instances  of  in  the  annals  of  North  America." 
Events  thicken,  and  the  prospect  grows  darker,  but 
Washington  has  taken  his  course,  and  not  all  the  kings 
in  the  world  can  turn  him  aside.  Soon  after,  writing 
to  his  brother,  who  was  training  an  independent  com 
pany,  he  says :  "  I  shall  very  cheerfully  accept  the 
honor  of  commanding  it,  if  occasion  require  it  to  be 
VOL.  i.  5 


50  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

done,  as  it  is  my  full  intention  to  devote  my  life  and 
fortune  in  the  cause  we  are  engaged  in  if  needful" 
At  length  civil  war  burst  forth,  and  no  one  could  see 
what  the  end  would  be.     But  Congress,  true  to  itself 
and  true  to  the  country  it  represented,  rose  above  pas 
sion  and  fear,  and  immediately  prepared  to  receive  the 
shock.      Washington,   as    commander-in-chief  of  the 
American  forces,  occupied  the  position  of  head  traitor 
against  his  government  and  his  king.     The  die  was 
cast  for  him ;  and  Congress,  that  band  of  noblest  men 
that  ever  stood  on  the  earth,  closed  sternly  around  him, 
pledging  together,  in  solemn  covenant,  their  lives,  their 
fortunes,  and  their  sacred  honor  to  him  in  the  common 
cause.     The  vow  was  recorded  in  heaven,  and  the 
conflict  set.     Refusing  the  salary  voted  him  by  Con 
gress,  he  asked  only  that  it  should  defray  his  expenses. 
His  labor  he  regarded  as  nothing ;  and  indeed  to  one 
who  had  coolly  surveyed  the  perilous  undertaking  in 
which  he  had  embarked,  counted  the  cost,  and  who 
saw  clearly  the  result  of  a  failure  both  to  himself  and 
his  friends,  reward  for  his  services  was  of  little  con 
sequence.      Besides,   his   country   demanded  all,   and 
all  should  be  given.     It  was  no  sudden  burst  of  enthu 
siasm — no  outbreak  of  indignation  against  oppression, 
but  a  calm  and  settled  determination  to  save  his  coun 
try  or  perish  in  the  attempt.    If  he  failed,  he  knew  that 
his  property  would  be  confiscated,  his  family  turned 
loose  on  the  world,  and  himself,  in  all  probability,  hung 
as  a  traitor.     But  he  could  say,  with  one  even  greater 
than  himself,  "  None  of  these  things  move  me,  neither 
count  I  my  life  dear  unto  me."    One  can  never  think  of 
him  in  his  first  campaign  without  the  deepest  emotions. 


SUFFRINGS     AT     VALLEY     FORGE.  51 

Tried  to  the  utmost — crippled  in  all  his  efforts,  and  un 
fortunate  in  all  his  movements — he  suffered  only  as 
great  hearts  can  suffer,  at  the  dishonor  that  seemed 
before  him ;  yet  he  still  closed  his  lips  in  stern  silence 
over  his  distressed  condition,  lest  it  should  discourage 
the  nation.  He  exaggerated  his  strength  and  concealed 
his  weakness  even  from  his  own  officers,  knowing  that 
despondency  now  would  paralyze  all  effort  and  all 
hope.  As  he  thus  stands  and  muses  and  suffers,  he 
seems  ever  murmuring  to  himself,  "  Let  disgrace  and 
dishonor  fall  on  me  rather  than  on  the  cause  of  free 
dom."  Receiving  and  holding  in  his  own  bosom  the 
evil  that  would  otherwise  reach  his  country,  he  com 
mits  all  to  that  God  who  rules  the  destinies  of  nations. 

And  when  the  gloomy  winter  of  1778  set  in,  he 
shared  with  his  army  at  Valley  Forge  its  privations 
and  its  sufferings.  Eleven  thousand  American  sol 
diers,  two  thousand  of  whom  were  barefoot  and  half 
naked,  stacked  their  arms  in  the  latter  part  of  Decem 
ber,  in  the  frozen  field,  and  began  to  look  out  for  huts 
to  shelter  them  from  the  cold  of  winter.  Hundreds 
with  nothing  but  rags  upon  their  bodies,  their  mus 
kets  resting  upon  their  naked  shoulders,  their  bare  feet 
cut  by  the  frozen  ground  till  you  could  track  them 
by  their  blood,  had  marched  hither  for  repose  and 
clothing,  and,  alas,  nothing  but  the  frost-covered  fields 
received  them.  Starving,  wretched,  and  wan,  they 
looked  like  the  miserable  wreck  of  a  routed  and  fam 
ine-struck  army.  Here  could  be  seen  a  group  har 
nessed  in  pairs,  drawing  a  few  logs  together  to  cover 
them,  and  there  another,  devouring  a  morsel  of  bread 
to  stay  the  pangs  of  hunger.  And  when  the  December 


52  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

night  shut  in  the  scene,  the  weary  thousands  laid  down 
on  the  barren,  bleak  hillside,  with  scarce  a  blanket  to 
cover  them,  their  unprotected  limbs  flung  out  upon  the 
frost.  One  would  have  thought  at  first  sight,  as  they 
lay  scattered  around,  that  there  had  been  a  fierce 
fought  battle,  and  those  were  the  wounded  or  dead 
stripped  by  the  enemy.  As  the  cold  morning  sun 
shone  down  upon  the  encampment,  they  again  com 
menced  their  heavy  task,  and  one  by  one  went  up  the 
rude  hovels.  Into  these  the  sons  of  liberty  crept,  many 
so  naked  they  could  not  come  forth  again  into  the  camp, 
but  there  stretched  on  the  straw,  passed  the  weary 
days  and  nights  in  suffering.  As  the  cold  increased, 
they  dared  not  lie  down  at  night,  so  unprotected  and 
naked  were  they,  but  slept  sitting  up  around  their 
fires.  Without  a  mouthful  of  meat  to  satisfy  their 
hunger,  they  thus  passed  days  and  weeks,  and  yet 
not  a  movement  of  dissension.  On  such  an  army,  pre 
senting  such  a  spectacle,  did  Washington  gaze  with  an 
guish,  and  his  noble  heart  yearned  towards  the  brave 
fellows  who  thus  clung  to  him  in  the  midst  of  neglect 
and  suffering.  Said  he,  in  writing  to  Congress  on  the 
subject,  "  however  others,  who  wish  me  to  enter  on  a 
winter  campaign,  may  feel  for  the  naked  and  distressed 
soldiers,  I  feel  superabundantly  for  them,  and  from  my 
soul,  I  pity  those  miseries  which  it  is  neither  in  my 
power  to  relieve  or  prevent."  All  this  took  place  too 
while  the  enemy  lay  within  a  day's  march  of  them, 
and  it  is  a  wonder  that  a  mutiny  did  not  break  out,  and 
whole  regiments  of  sufferers  disband  at  once  and  re 
turn  to  their  homes.  History  cannot  furnish  a  more 
noble  example  of  the  devotion  of  troops  to  their  leader 


HIS     PATRIOTISM.  53 

and  to  the  cause  of  freedom.  When  Congress  at 
length  mitigated  these  sufferings  by  sending  clothing 
and  food,  Washington  was  enabled  to  build  a  log 
cabin  for  a  dining  room,  which  his  wife  in  writing  to 
a  friend  said,  "  made  our  quarters  a  little  more  comfort 
able"  But  the  wide-spread  evils  did  not  end  here; 
Congress  was  divided  and  grumbling,  the  legislatures 
of  the  separate  states  often  selfish  and  suspicious,  both 
thwarting  his  plans  and  rendering  powerless  his  efforts, 
yet  he  had  no  thought  of  yielding  the  struggle.  I  be 
lieve  though  every  one  of  the  states  had  sent  to  him 
saying  that  the  cause  was  hopeless  and  ought  to  be 
abandoned,  he  would  have  stood  the  same  immovable, 
hopeful,  and  lofty  man  as  ever. 

And  when  in  the  following  spring  proposals  of  re 
conciliation  were  made  by  the  king  so  favorable  in  their 
character,  that  had  they  been  offered  before  the  decla 
ration  of  independence,  they  would  doubtless  have  been 
accepted,  he  at  once  met  them  with  his  stern  oppo 
sition.  Three  years  of  war  and  disaster  had  passed, 
ending  with  the  winter  quarters  at  Valley  Forge,  and 
the  struggle  seemed  farther  than  ever  from  a  favorable 
termination,  but  Washington  stood  in  the  midst  of  his 
little  army  as  fixed  in  his  purpose  as  he  was  in  the  first 
Congress.  Forgetting  his  own  troubles  and  privations, 
he  seemed  anxious  only  that  the  country  should  not 
falter  in  resolution  or  courage.  He  immediately  wrote 
to  Congress,  saying,  "  Nothing  short  of  independence,  it 
appears  to  me,  can  possibly  do.  A  peace  on  other 
terms  would,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  be  a 
peace  of  war.  The  injuries  we  have  received  from  the 
British  nation,  were  so  unprovoked,  and  have  been  so 

5* 


54  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

great  and  so  many,  that  they  can  never  be  forgotten. 
Besides  the  feuds,  the  jealousies,  the  animosities  that 
would  ever  attend  a  union  with  them  ;  besides  the  im 
portance  we  should  derive  from  an  unrestricted  com 
merce;  our  fidelity  as  a  people,  our  gratitude,  our 
character  as  men,  are  opposed  to  a  coalition  with  them 
as  subjects,  but  in  case  of  the  last  extremity."  This 
was  written  two  days  after  he  had  discovered  what  the 
conciliatory  bills  contained,  written  too  in  the  gloomiest 
period  of  the  struggle.  Quick  as  lightning,  when  the 
interests  of  his  country  are  in  danger ;  patient  and  si 
lent  when  he  himself  is  assailed,  he  attempts  to  forestall 
Congress  in  its  opinions,  and  throws  the  weight  of  his 
character  on  the  side  of  freedom.  The  same  noble 
disinterestedness  characterizes  every  action  of  his  life ; 
he  seemed  to  lose  himself  utterly  in  the  common  wel 
fare.  In  1781,  when  the  British  ascended  the  Potomac, 
burning  and  destroying  the  property  of  the  inhabitants, 
one  vessel  came  up  to  Mount  Vernon,  and  by  threats 
to  burn  down  the  house,  induced  the  manager  of  the 
estate  to  furnish  what  was  demanded.  When  Wash 
ington  heard  of  this,  he  immediately  wrote  to  his  agent, 
saying,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  loss ;  I  am  a 
little  sorry  to  hear  of  my  own  ;  but  that  which  gives 
me  most  concern  is,  that  you  should  go  aboard  the  ene 
my's  vessels  and  furnish  them  with  refreshments.  It 
would  have  been  a  less  painful  circumstance-  to  me  to 
have  heard  that  inconsequence  of  your  non-compliance 
with  their  demand,  they  had  burned  my  house  and  laid 
the  plantation  in  ruins.  You  ought  to  have  consid 
ered  yourself  as  my  representative,  and  should  have 
reflected  on  the  bad  example  of  communicating  with 


LETTER     TO     HIS     AGENT.  55 

the  enemy  and  making  a  voluntary  offer  of  refresh 
ments  to  them  with  a  view  to  prevent  a  conflagration." 
How  keenly  alive  he  is  to  anything  that  may  reflect  on 
his  patriotism.  "  I  am  little  sorry  to  hear  of  my  own 
loss,  but  I  am  profoundly  grieved  that  even  my  agent 
should  have  treated  the  enemies  of  my  country  as 
friends  even  in  appearance,  in  order  to  save  my  house 
from  the  flames  and  my  lands  from  pillage."  Such 
language  might  have  been  used  in  a  letter  designed  to 
meet  the  public  eye  without  being  the  true  expression 
of  the  heart,  but  not  to  a  confidential  agent,  who  might 
in  a  few  days  be  put  again  in  the  same  predicament. 
He  has  not  reasoned  himself  into  patriotism  ;  it  is  the 
spontaneous  feeling  of  his  heart.  He  loves  his  country 
so  well  that  its  interests  stand  before  his  own,  and  his 
whole  being  is  aroused  in  its  defence  before  selfish  feel 
ings  have  time  to  exert  their  sway. 

And  how  grieved  was  his  noble  heart  when  it  was 
proposed  to  him  to  become  king.  The  officers  of  the 
army  seeing  how  utterly  inefficient  Congress  had  be 
come,  and  how  little  regard  was  paid  to  its  authority  by 
the  separate  states,  and  the  distress  and  embarrassment 
on  every  side  for  want  of  more  concentrated  power,  as 
sembled  together  and  drew  up  an  able  letter  to  Wash 
ington,  in  which  they  represented  him  as  the  only  hope 
of  the  country,  and  proposed  that  he  should  assume  the 
rank  of  Protector.  With  the  officers  of  the  army 
sworn  to  his  interests,  and  the  soldiers  bound  to  him 
by  affection  and  reverence,  it  would  have  been  an  easy 
matter  to  have  made  himself  king,  under  the  title  of 
Protector.  The  overthrow  of  the  Rump  Parliament 


56  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

by  Cromwell,  and  the  breaking  up  of  the  imbecile  Di 
rectory  by  Napoleon,  were  difficult  tasks  compared  to 
that  of  dispersing  our  divided  Congress.  But  to  Wash 
ington  success  would  be  the  thing  he  dreaded  most, 
and  now  when  presented  to  him  as  possible,  he  forgets 
in  his  indignation  even  the  kindness  which  suggested  it. 
Filled  with  alarm  at  the  new  evil  which  this  state  of 
feeling  in  the  army  showed  to  hang  over  his  country, 
and  with  burning  indignation  at  the  magnitude  of  the 
proposed  wrong,  he  loses  for  a  moment  his  accustomed 
composure  of  manner.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  in  reply  to  the 
officer  through  whom  the  communication  was  sent, 
"  with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  astonishment  I  have 
read  with  attention  the  sentiments  you  have  submitted 
to  my  perusal.  Be  assured,  sir,  no  occurrence  in  the 
course  of  the  war  has  given  me  more  painful  sensations 
than  your  information  of  there  being  such  ideas  exist 
ing  in  the  army  as  you  have  expressed,  and  I  must 
view  with  abhorrence  and  reprehend  with  severity. 
For  the  present,  the  communication  of  them  will  rest 
in  my  own  bosom,  unless  some  further  agitation  of  the 
matter  shall  make  a  disclosure  necessary.  I  am  at 
much  loss  to  conceive  what  part  of  my  conduct  could 
have  given  encouragement  to  an  address  which  to  me 
seems  big  with  the  greatest  mischiefs  that  can  befall 
my  country.  If  I  am  not  deceived  in  the  knowledge 
of  myself,  you  could  not  have  found  a  person  to  whom 
your  schemes  are  more  disagreeable.  ***** 
Let  me  conjure  you,  then,  if  you  have  any  regard  for 
your  country,  concern  for  yourself  or  posterity,  or  re 
spect  for  me,  to  banish  these  thoughts  from  your  mind, 


ASKED     TO     BE     KING.  57 

and  never  communicate  as  from  yourself  or  any  one 
else,  a  sentiment  of  the  like  nature. 
"  I  am,  sir,  &c., 

"GEORGE  WASHINGTON." 

How  like  a  thunderbolt  this  proposition  seems  to  fall 
upon  him.  To  his  pure  spirit  such  a  result  had  never 
occurred  as  possible,  though  to  all  other  military  lead 
ers  it  had  been  the  goal  of  their  ambition.  He  cannot 
contain  his  surprise,  and  he  looks  about  him  in  amaze 
ment  at  this  new  danger  which  has  opened  so  like  an 
earthquake  under  his  feet.  Six  years  of  toil  and  suffer 
ing  had  rolled  by,  and  he  had  seen  his  faithful  soldiers 
mowed  down  by  the  cannon  of  the  enemy,  his  army 
defeated  and  in  rags,  and  gloom  impenetrable  on  every 
side,  and  now,  just  as  the  night  seemed  ended  and  the 
morning  dawning,  from  an  unexpected  quarter  arises 
an  evil  more  threatening  to  the  interests  of  his  country 
than  all  which  had  passed.  Every  line  of  this  letter 
bears  indications  of  a  powerful  internal  struggle;  a 
struggle  to  maintain  that  self-composure  and  modera 
tion  he  was  wont  to  exhibit.  Every  sentence  seems 
but  the  prelude  to  the  explosion  of  the  volcano  within. 
Mastering  himself  however  by  a  strong  effort,  he  writes 
with  a  severe  dignity  and  stern  condemnation  that  must 
have  overwhelmed  the  authors  of  this  conspiracy.  He 
is  at  first  amazed— there  is  a  "  mixture  of  great  surprise 
and  astonishment"  and  then  his  indignation  is  kindled, 
and  he  views  the  feelings  which  could  originate  such  a 
proposition,  "  with  abhorrence:'  He  then  takes  fire  at 
the  insult  offered  himself— the  severe  reflection  it  casts 
upon  his  integrity,  and  the  implied  charge  of  ambitious 


58  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

views,  and  he  "  cannot  conceive  what  part  of  his  con* 
duct  could  have  given  encouragement  to  such  an  ad 
dress"  The  next  moment  his  thoughts  revert  to  his 
country,  and  there  is  something  inexpressibly  sad  in 
the  close  of  that  sentence,  "  that  can  befall  my  coun 
try"  On  a  noble  and  pure  heart  there  could  be  no 
deeper  wound  inflicted  than  this,  and  the  bitterest  an 
guish  is  conveyed  in  the  calm  language,  "  no  occur 
rence  in  the  course  of  the  war  has  given  me  more 
painful  sensations."  To  suppose  him  capable  of  trea 
son  and  compel  him  to  receive  a  proposal  to  commit  it, 
was  striking  at  the  very  soul  of  that  honor  he  held 
dearer  than  his  life.  To  become  a  king  over  a  free 
people  who  had  struggled  so  nobly  for  their  freedom  ! 
to  dash  to  earth  the  hopes  which  had  borne  them  up  in 
the  midst  of  such  trials  !  and  to  wrong  so  deeply  human 
faith,  and  confidence,  and  rights,  as  turn  traitor  at  last ! 
his  whole  nature  turned  away  abhorrent  from  the 
contemplation. 

That  patriotism  which  made  him  endure  with  such 
patience,  toil  with  such  perseverance,  refuse  all  emol 
uments,  and  scorn  the  gift  of  a  crown,  has  become 
the  admiration  of  mankind,  and  the  argument  the  world 
over  with  which  the  lovers  of  human  liberty  silence  the 
sneers  of  despots  and  revive  the  hopes  of  the  despond 
ing.  As  an  example,  it  is  the  richest  legacy  he  could 
have  left  his  countrymen. 

Washington's  military  genius  is  sometimes  called  in 
question,  and  though  he  is  allowed  a  high  rank,  he  is 
not  placed  among  the  first  military  leaders  of  his  age. 
But  he  who  investigates  his  career  carefully,  will  come 
to  a  different  conclusion.  Indeed,  any  one  can  tell 


HIS     MILITARY     GENIUS.  59 

where  the  truth  lies,  by  attempting  to  put  his  finger  on 
the  man  whom  he  thinks  could  have  carried  this  coun 
try  through  the  revolutionary  struggle  as  quickly, 
safely,  and  successfully  as  he  did.  In  war,  brilliant 
actions  go  farther  to  establish  a  military  reputation  than 
the  profoundest  plans,  and  yet  nothing  is  more  true, 
than  that  a  campaign,  which  is  a  total  loss  all  round, 
may  exhibit  greater  ability  on  the  part  of  a  commander 
than  a  perfectly  successful  one.  It  depends  altogether 
upon  the  comparative  strength  and  character  of  the 
forces  in  the  field,  and  the  best  mode  of  conducting  hos 
tilities.  For  the  Mexican  and  Spaniard,  the  guerilla 
warfare  is  the  best,  because  it  is  better  adapted  both  to 
the  character  of  the  inhabitants  and  the  nature  of  the 
country ;  and  the  commander-in-chief  of  their  forces 
who  adopts  any  other  method  for  the  sake  of  present 
reputation,  will  lose  in  the  end.  An  enemy  may  take 
fortress  after  fortress,  and  city  after  city,  advancing 
with  astonishing  rapidity  into  the  heart  of  a  country, 
and  finish  the  campaign  triumphantly ;  but  the  open 
ing  of  the  next  may  be  his  ruin,  and  show  the  wisdom  of 
the  commander  who  gave  up  immediate  partial  success 
for  ultimate  victory.  Procrastination  may  be  haste  in 
the  long  run,  and  apparent  inactivity  the  most  rapid 
way  of  terminating  a  war.  The  retreat  of  Wellington 
through  Spain,  thus  alluring  Massena,  by  the  prospect 
of  a  pitched  battle,  beyond  the  reach  of  supplies,  finally 
forced  the  latter  into  a  hasty  retreat,  and  well  nigh  se 
cured  his  overthrow.  So  also  protracting  the  war  in 
our  colonies  ruined  the  British  cause,  for  it  involved 
England  in  expenses  that  no  nation  can  long  eudure. 
To  support  a  large  army  so  far  from  home,  in  a  hostile 


60  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

territory,  requires  too  great  an  expenditure  of  money  to 
be  kept  up  for  a  succession  of  years.  Washington  un 
derstood  this,  and  knew  if  he  could  hold  the  colonies 
together  and  the  army  firm,  that  he  could  wear  out  his 
more  powerful  antagonist. 

Now,  there  are  certain  qualities  which  go  to  form  a 
great  military  leader,  whatever  his  career  may  be ;  the 
want  of  any  one  of  which  detracts  materially  from  his 
merit.  No  man  can  become  a  distinguished  commander 
without  some  striking  characteristics,  and  the  more  of 
these  he  possesses  in  harmony,  the  higher  will  he  rank. 
The  first  requisite  is  courage — not  the  dogged  resolution 
of  the  brute,  nor  the  daring  inspired  by  sudden  excite 
ment,  but  that  calm  and  lofty  feeling  which  no  surprise 
can  disturb  and  no  catastrophe  unsettle.  This  is  a  rarer 
qualification  than  many  suppose.  The  oldest  veterans 
will  on  certain  occasions  be  seized  with  a  panic,  and 
the  bravest  leader  sometimes  shows  a  timidity  that  is 
unaccountable.  So  true  is  this,  that  Napoleon  once  said 
that  every  one  had  his  moment  de  peur — his  moment 
of  fear.  In  this  moment  of  fear,  a  great  advantage  may 
be  lost  and  a  whole  campaign  ruined.  But  one  cannot 
point  to  the  spot  in  Washington's  career  where  his 
firmness  forsook  him  for  an  instant.  If  to  this  quality 
of  resolute  courage  be  added  a  high  chivalric  feeling, 
prompting  a  man,  in  perilous  crises,  to  deeds  of  per 
sonal  heroism,  it  adds  tenfold  to  his  power.  This 
Washington  possessed  to  a  remarkable  degree.  It  is  a 
little  singular  that  a  great  and  daring  act  performed  by 
some  emperor  or  marshal  of  Europe  becomes  a  theme 
of  universal  admiration,  while  the  same  thing  done  by 
Washington  scarcely  excites  a  remark.  One  cannot 


HIS     MILITARY     GENIUS.  61 

mention  an  example  of  heroism  that  does  not  find  its 
parallel  in  him.  Murat,  in  a  paroxysm  of  passion,  could 
spur  all  alone  into  the  fire  of  a  Russian  battery; — Wash 
ington  did  the  same  thing  at  Kipp's  Bay  to  shame  his 
men  into  courage.  The  world  gazes  with  awe  on 
Napoleon  rushing  over  the  bridge  of  Ar cola  and  planting 
his  standard  amid  the  storm  of  fire  that  swept  it ; — 
Washington  spurred  up  to  the  very  muzzles  of  the 
enemy's  guns  at  Princeton,  and  sat  beneath  his  coun 
try's  flag,  where  the  shot  fell  like  hail  about  him. 
Bonaparte  rallying  his  broken  troops  at  Marengo,  and 
rolling  back  the  battle  on  the  foe,  presents  a  noble 
spectacle ;  but  Washington  doing  the  same  thing  at 
Monmouth,  under  the  burning  sun  of  one  of  the  hottest 
days  ever  witnessed  in  this  country,  is  a  nobler  one. 

It  is  also  necessary  that  a  commander  should  possess 
the  power  to  win  the  love,  confidence,  and  veneration 
of  his  soldiers.  This  was  one  of  the  great  traits  of 
Napoleon's  character,  and  yet  there  never  was  an  in 
stance  of  such  devotion  of  troops  to  their  leader  as  was 
found  in  our  revolutionary  army.  When  Steuben 
arrived  at  Valley  Forge,  he  declared  that  there  was 
not  a  commander  in  Europe  who  could  keep  troops  so 
destitute  and  suffering  as  ours,  together  for  a  single 
week. 

Caution  and  promptness  combined,  in  a  leader,  make 
him  a  strong  adversary  in  the  field.  To  be  tempted 
into  no  rashness,  yet  show  no  hesitation  or  delay — to 
commit  no  error  himself,  yet  be  prompt  as  a  thunder 
bolt  in  taking  advantage  of  one  made  by  another,  gives 
to  any  man  tremendous  power.  This  was  characteris 
tic  of  Washington,  and  it  is  amusing  to  see  with  what 

0 


62  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

caution  the  British  commanders  approached  him,  and 
with  what  hesitation  they  gave  him  battle ;  while  one 
gazes  with  admiration  at  the  prompt  and  terrible  man 
ner  in  which  he  took  advantage  of  the  slightest  mistake. 

Perhaps  a  still  rarer  quality  is  that  moral  firmness 
which  neither  defeat  nor  difficulties,  nor  the  most  pro 
tracted  and  exhausting  labor  can  discourage  or  force 
into  cessation  of  effort.  Yet  no  man  took  a  beating 
more  coolly  than  Washington,  or  turned  on  his  heel 
with  fiercer  courage  the  moment  his  enemy  relaxed  his 
watchfulness.  Cornwallis  was  one  of  the  ablest  gene 
rals  of  his  time,  yet  his  energies  gave  out  at  last,  and 
he  suffered  himself  to  be  cooped  up  at  Yorktown,  and 
captured.  Had  he  shown  but  half  the  activity  in  his 
campaign  against  Lafayette  that  he  did  in  the  one 
against  Greene,  his  fate  would  have  been  different;  but 
he  was  tired  out — his  energies  had  been  taxed  till  they 
were  exhausted,  and  he  relaxed  into  comparative  slug 
gishness  ;  yet  one  cannot  designate  the  single  moment 
when  Washington's  vigor  became  enfeebled  by  long, 
constant,  and  wasting  toil. 

But  a  man  may  possess  all  these  qualifications  fitting 
him  to  control  a  single  army  with  admirable  skill,  and 
yet  fail  as  commander-in-chief  of  forces  scattered  over 
a  large  territory.  A  mind  of  deep  combinations  is 
necessary  to  this — a  mind  which,  embracing  the  whole 
field  of  operations  and  estimating  the  comparative 
strength  of  the  forces  that  will  be  brought  forward, 
and  their  progress,  can  come  to  correct  conclusions 
and  form  accurate  plans.  That  Washington  pos 
sessed  such  a  mind  no  one  can  doubt  who  reads  his 
letters  to  Congress.  The  invasion  of  Canada — the  de- 


HIS     MILITARY     GENIUS.  63 

struction  of  Burgoyne — the  attack  on  Rhode  Island — 
the  management  of  the  southern  campaign,  and  the 
control  of  the  whole  central  provinces,  were  the  work 
of  his  all-embracing  plans.  So  correct  was  his  judg 
ment,  that  one  is  troubled  to  put  his  finger  on  a  single 
error  that  he  ever  committed.  There  always  must  be 
failures  resulting  from  the  inefficiency  of  subordinates, 
and  the  intervention  of  obstacles  no  human  mind  can 
foresee  or  prevent. 

Hence,  in  contemplating  the  man  alone,  one  finds 
in  him  every  characteristic  belonging  to  a  military 
leader  of  the  highest  rank.  In  comparison  with  the 
renowned  warriors  of  Europe,  he  fails  only  in  the 
number  and  brilliancy  of  his  victories.  Now,  in  the 
first  place,  taken  apart  from  the  forces  which  accom 
plished  them,  there  can  be  no  more  unsafe  criterion 
by  which  to  judge  of  a  commander's  ability,  than  sim 
ple  victories.  Bonaparte  considered  Suchet  the  best 
general  in  his  army,  and  yet  how  few  of  the  mass  of 
mankind  adopt  his  opinion.  His  whole  career,  after 
he  obtained  a  separate  command,  was  passed  in  the 
Peninsula,  in  a  war  against  walled  cities  and  strong 
fortresses,  furnishing  no  field  for  dazzling  achievements, 
and  where  his  ability  can  be  judged  only  by  comparing 
his  means  with  his  success. 

Great  pitched  battles,  in  which  the  eye  is  dazzled  by 
the  movements  of  two  vast  armies,  and  the  senses 
stunned  by  the  din  and  uproar  of  two  hundred  thou 
sand  men  mixed  in  mortal  combat,  often  fix  forever  in 
public  estimation  the  fame  of  a  leader,  while  the  same 
end  reached  without  this  tumult  excites  no  astonish 
ment  or  applause.  Thus  Wellington's  fame,  among  the 


64  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

mass  of  his  countrymen,  rests  on  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
where  nothing  but  an  accident  saved  him  from  an  utter 
overthrow,  and  from  proving  at  once,  what  is  now  uni 
versally  conceded,  that  the  campaign  was  badly  con 
ducted,  while  his  campaigns  in  the  Peninsula,  where  his 
military  genius  shines  out  in  true  splendor,  are  almost 
entirely  forgotten.  Washington's  situation  was  unlike 
that  in  which  any  other  military  chieftain  had  ever 
been  placed.  Napoleon,  when  he  took  command  of 
the  army  of  Italy,  and  with  which  he  performed  such 
prodigies,  found  himself  over  a  body  of  veteran  sol 
diers.  His  troops,  it  is  true,  were  comparatively  few, 
but  they  had  seen  hard  service,  and  needed  only  a  fit 
leader  to  become  a  most  formidable  army.  Besides, 
they  were  well  supplied  with  arms,  and  were  enlisted 
for  life.  But  Washington  had  to  create  an  army  out 
of  raw  recruits,  and  then  furnish  them  with  arms  and 
ammunition.  No  sooner  was  this  done,  than  the  term 
of  enlistment  expired,  and  he  saw  with  the  keenest  an 
guish  the  force  he  had  collected  with  so  much  labor 
dissolve  like  mist  before  him.  What  could  be  done 
with  troops  that  simply  passed  and  repassed  the  field 
of  vision.  There  was  no  powder  even  for  these  re 
cruits,  raw  as  they  were,  and  two  thousand  of  them 
had  not  a  musket  to  handle  in  case  of  a  fight. 

I  have  often  thought  that  had  Washington  been  a  less 
able  general,  or  had  the  enemy  been  in  less  fear  of  him, 
his  military  career  would  have  been  far  more  brilliant. 
For  then  he  would  have  been  incessantly  pushed  inland, 
and  battle  given  him  on  any  terms,  and  fierce  fights 
and  dazzling  exploits  have  kept  the  country  in  a  glow, 
— and  he,  as  it  suited  him  best,  been  in  constant  action. 


HIS     CAMPAIGNS.  65 

But  all  the  first  year  in  which  he  lay  around  Boston, 
the  enemy  seemed  afraid  to  molest  him ;  and  when  he 
at  length  took  the  offensive,  and  planted  his  cannon  on 
Dorchester  heights,  where  he  expected  the  scenes  of 
Bunker  Hill  over  again,  the  British  refused  to  give  him 
battle,  and  evacuated  the  city.  He  drove  them  away, 
but  they  took  to  the  sea,  where  his  arm  could  not  reach 
them.  Had  our  country  been  like  Tyrol  or  Vendee, 
he  would  have  continued  to  push  them  back  till  they 
would  have  been  forced  to  come  to  an  engagement  on 
something  like  equal  terms. 

At  the  hazard  of  a  little  repetition,  let  us  take  a  hasty 
review  of  Washington's  campaigns.  In  the  first  place, 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  though  of  incalculable  value 
in  arousing  the  spirit  of  the  country,  came  very  near 
proving  our  ruin  by  the  false  hopes  it  inspired  in  un 
disciplined  militia.  Because  behind  breastworks,  where 
no  evolutions  were  to  be  performed,  and  no  manoauvres 
of  the  enemy  to  be  checked,  they  had  broken  the  veteran 
ranks  of  England  in  pieces,  it  was  supposed  they  would 
be  equal  to  them  in  the  open  field.  Hence  the  war 
commenced  with  short  enlistments,  giving  no  opportu 
nity  for  discipline,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  Wash 
ington  could  induce  Congress  even  partially  to  correct 
the  error.  That  he  should  be  able  to  keep  the  field  at 
all  with  these  ever  shifting,  undisciplined,  unfurnished 
troops,  is  a  wonder ;  much  stranger  is  it  that  he  should 
ever  have  risked  them  in  an  open  field-fight.  The  dif 
ficulty  was  not  that  they  were  unable  to  fling  them 
selves  into  squares  to  repel  a  shock  of  cavalry,  or  un 
roll  into  column  again  to  make  a  charge,  but  that  they 
could  not  even  change  front  in  battle,  or  execute  the 

6* 


66  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

simplest  manoeuvre  to  prevent  being  outflanked,  with 
out  being  thrown  into  greater  or  less  disorder.  Be 
hind  ramparts  such  men  will  fight  bravely,  and  can 
be  led  to  a  desperate  assault,  but  in  a  pitched  battle, 
where  change  of  position  and  more  or  less  manoeuvres 
are  inevitable,  they  cannot  be  relied  on,  and  Washing 
ton  knew  it.  Again,  his  plans  were  continually  crip 
pled  by  his  officers  and  by  Congress.  He  dare  not 
follow  out  his  own  suggestions,  because  he  would  be 
met  with  the  clamor  of  "  arbitrary  power."  Hence, 
he  had  to  call  a  council  of  war  on  every  occasion ;  and 
nothing  but  a  victory  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  which 
he  ventured  to  fight  against  the  decision  of  his  officers, 
saved  him  from  severe  condemnation.  Now,  placed  in 
such  a  position,  crippled  by  such  obstacles,  there  is  no 
way  in  which  a  man  like  Washington  can  develop  all 
his  resources  and  energy,  but  by  bursting  his  toils  with 
a  strong  effort  and  vaulting  to  supreme  power.  This, 
his  integrity  and  patriotism  would  not  allow  him  to  do, 
and  so  he  suffered,  and  endured,  and  delayed,  and  in 
stead  of  putting  forth  his  efforts  in  his  own  and  the  best 
way,  often  exerted  them  in  the  way  marked  out  by  oth 
ers.  As  the  war  advanced,  he  became  more  unshackled, 
and  then  moved  steadily  on  to  victory  and  an  honorable 
peace. 

Yet  his  campaigns  from  the  outset,  badly  as  he  was 
furnished  and  much  as  he  was  crippled,  will  bear  the 
closest  ^examination.  From  his  head-quarters  at  Bos 
ton,  he  planned  the  bold  expedition  against  Canada, 
and  by  sending  Arnold  through  the  forest  against 
Quebec,  showed  the  energy  with  which  he  entered  on 
his  work.  It  failed  not  through  any  error  of  judgment, 


MASTERLY     RETREAT.  67 

but  by  an  intervention  of  heaven.  The  very  day  that 
Arnold  arrived  on  the  St.  Lawrence  opposite  Quebec, 
a  violent  storm  of  wind  set  in,  which  prevented  his 
crossing  till  the  inhabitants  could  recover  from  their 
surprise  and  obtain  reinforcements.  The  invasion  it 
self  was  boldly  and  skilfully  planned,  and  but  for  this 
would  have  succeeded. 

Next  followed  the  attempt  to  save  New  York,  and 
the  battle  of  Long  Island  took  place — the  most  un 
skilful  and  imprudent  one  delivered  during  the  whole 
war.  Had  the  British  showed  the  least  energy  and 
activity,  not  a  man  of  the  American  army  but  those  on 
horseback  would  have  escaped.  But  this  was  fought 
directly  against  the  wish  and  opinion  of  Washington, 
and  hence  not  chargeable  to  him.  But  when  the  mis 
chief  was  done,  there  was  no  time  to  call  a  council 
of  war,  and  the  whole  catastrophe  fell  on  him  alone. 
The  movement  by  which  he  extricated  the  army  from 
its  perilous  position,  and  brought  the  troops  safely  off, 
and  finally  conducted  the  retreat  to  Harlaem,  exhibit  a 
skill  and  energy  seldom  equalled  by  any  commander. 
Here  too  his  great  power  of  endurance  stood  him  in 
good  stead,  for  a  less  hardy  frame  would  have  sunk 
under  this  protracted  physical  and  mental  effort.  For 
forty-eight  hours  he  never  closed  his  eyes,  and  nearly 
all  the  time  was  in  the  saddle,  riding  hither  and  thither, 
now  hurrying  on  a  column  and  now  ordering  a  march, 
and  again  cheering  on  the  men  by  his  voice  and  ex 
ample.  Calm  and  collected,  yet  full  of  fire  and  energy, 
he  superintended  every  operation,  and  still  urged  on 
the  weary  thousands  who  seemed  already  pressed  to 
the  top  of  their  speed.  The  fate  of  his  army  hung  by 


68  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

a  thread,  and  for  two  days  and  two  nights  he  watched 
it  with  the  intensest  anxiety,  almost  within  reach  of 
the  enemy's  hand. 

But  this  astonishing  retreat  was  safely  effected,  and 
Washington  at  length  drew  up  his  army  on  Harlaem 
heights.  Being  compelled  by  the  passage  of  the  ene 
my's  ships  up  the  river  to  retire  to  White  Plains,  he 
there  with  his  inferior  force  made  a  stand  against  the 
whole  British  army.  Sir  William  Howe  closed  round 
him  in  a  huge  semicircle,  and  the  American  com 
mander  waited  calmly  the  approach  of  his  veteran 
thousands.  But  Howe  dared  not  attack  him  even  with 
his  superior  army.  His  practised  eye  saw  that  he  had 
no  common  military  leader  to  deal  with,  and  he  left 
him  in  order  to  assail  posts  not  so  ably  defended. 
Forts  Washington  and  Lee  fell,  though  the  immense 
loss  at  the  former  place  would  have  been  prevented 
had  Washington's  advice  been  taken.  At  length,  to 
save  New  Jersey,  he  crossed  the  Hudson,  but  finding 
himself  too  feeble  to  contend  with  his  adversary,  he 
began  to  retreat  towards  the  Delaware,  pressed  hard 
by  Cornwallis.  His  own  force  had  gradually  dwin 
dled  down  to  three  thousand  effective  men,  yet  with 
these  he  kept  the  field  and  maintained  a  firm  counte 
nance.  Eluding  his  pursuers  by  his  skilful  manoeuvres, 
hovering  around  them  the  moment  they  halted,  showing 
that  though  defeated  he  was  not  disheartened,  he  at 
length  crossed  the  Delaware  at  night  in  the  midst  of  a 
storm  of  sleet  and  hail,  and  falling  like  a  thunderbolt  on 
the  enemy,  took  a  thousand  prisoners,  and  the  next  day 
reached  his  encampment  in  safety.  At  this  critical 
juncture  the  time  of  enlistment  to  quite  a  portion  of 


HISCAMPAIGNS.  69 

the  troops  expired,  and  Washington  with  his  utmost 
efforts  could  induce  them  to  remain  only  six  weeks 
longer.  Feeling  that  within  this  time  some  decisive 
blow  must  be  struck,  even  at  the  hazard  of  defeat,  in 
order  to  revive  the  drooping  hopes  of  the  country,  he 
waited  patiently  with  his  little  band  the  approach  of 
Lord  Cornwallis  with  his  veteran  army.  All  day  long 
the  thunder  of  artillery  shook  the  shores  of  the  Assan- 
pink,  and  at  night,  when  darkness  and  silence  again 
rested  on  the  scene,  a  battle  disastrous  to  the  Ameri 
cans  seemed  inevitable  the  following  morning.  Corn 
wallis  deemed  his  prey  secure,  for  with  the  superior 
discipline  of  his  troops,  added  to  their  superior  num 
bers,  there  could  be  little  doubt  of  the  issue.  Wash 
ington  stood  in  the  deepening  gloom  and  gazed  long 
and  anxiously  on  the  enemy's  watch-fires,  now  blazing 
cheerfully  through  the  darkness,  and  thought  of  the 
coming  day.  Keeping  his  own  fires  burning,  and  send 
ing  men  near  the  enemy's  lines  to  dig  an  entrenchment 
in  order  to  deceive  them,  he  began  to  remove  his  bag 
gage,  and  at  twelve  o'clock  took  up  the  line  of  march 
for  Princeton.  Silently,  noiselessly,  the  columns  moved 
away  in  the  darkness,  while  the  anxious  chieftain  rode 
in  their  midst.  At  sunrise  Cornwallis,  to  his  inexpres 
sible  surprise,  heard  the  thunder  of  his  guns  at  Prince 
ton,  telling  him  that  his  antagonist,  with  all  the  wari 
ness  of  the  fox,  had  also  the  terrible  spring  of  the  lion. 
Breaking  to  pieces  the  three  regiments  he  found  here, 
and  chasing  the  fugitives  before  him,  he  passed  on  as 
far  as  Kingston,  followed  close  by  Cornwallis,  whose 
troops  were  within  hearing  of  his  musketry.  It  was 
his  intention  to  advance  on  Brunswick,  where  the  Eng- 


70  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

lish  had  collected  their  stores,  but  his  soldiers  had  now 
been  thirty-six  hours  without  sleep,  and  a  part  of  that 
time  in  battle,  and  needed  rest,  so  he  turned  aside  to 
Pluckenheim,  and  afterwards  retired  to  Morristown, 
where  he  took  up  his  winter  quarters.  He  did  not  re 
main  idle,  however,  but  sent  out  detachments  of  troops 
to  harass  General  Howe,  and  in  a  short  time  every 
place  in  the  Jerseys  was  cleared  of  the  enemy  except 
Brunswick  and  Amboy. 

Thus,  in  three  weeks'  time,  did  Washington  gain  two 
battles,  and  drive  the  British  from  every  post  they  had 
taken  on  the  Delaware,  and  wrest  the  whole  province 
of  New  Jersey  from  their  grasp.  With  a  small  and 
dispirited  army,  part  of  which  he  had  prevailed  on  to 
remain  only  six  weeks  longer,  in  the  midst  of  general 
discouragement  and  gloom,  he  suddenly  stopped  retreat 
ing,  and,  breaking  into  a  furious  offensive,  fell  like  suc 
cessive  thunder-claps  on  the  overwhelming  and  victo 
rious  enemy.  Eluding  their  most  skilfully-laid  plans, 
breaking  whole  regiments  to  pieces  by  his  furious  on 
sets,  and  wresting  post  after  post  from  their  grasp,  he 
rolled  their  strong  columns  back  at  every  point,  while 
his  little  army  shouted  victory,  that  thrilled  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  land.  The  cloud  that  had  gathered 
thicker  and  darker  every  hour  around  our  cause,  sud 
denly  rent,  and  the  light  of  hope  and  joy  shone  down 
on  the  nation.  The  British  generals  were  amazed  at 
their  sudden  overthrow,  while  Europe  sent  up  a  shout 
of  applause  to  the  genius  who  had  wrought  these 
miracles,  and  baptized  him  the  American  Fabius. 
When  his  name  was  uttered,  tears  of  joy  and  exultation 
fell,  and  not  a  prayer  went  heavenward  but  bore  it  in 


HIS     CAMPAIGNS.  71 

strong  supplication  to  the  God  of  battles.  Patient, 
watchful,  provoked  into  no  rashness,  frightened  into  no 
delay,  cautious  in  his  approach,  bold  and  desperate  in 
the  onset,  calm  and  collected  in  retreat,  he  moves  at 
the  head  of  his  brave  but  ill-furnished  and  distracted 
army  like  a  pillar  of  fire. 

The  history  of  these  three  weeks  throws  more  light 
on  Washington's  military  character  than  any  other  por 
tion  of  his  life.  In  the  first  place,  he  dared  not  go  into 
winter  quarters  in  the  midst  of  such  general  discou 
ragement,  and  he  suddenly  broke  from  his  cautious  and 
careful  manoeuvres  into  one  of  the  boldest  and  most 
headlong  movements  recorded  in  history.  He  must 
have  the  moral  effect  of  a  victory,  or  the  army  would 
disband,  and  he  wisely  risked  all  to  gain  it.  In  the 
second  place,  he  showed  what  terrible  work  he  could 
make  with  the  enemy,  no  matter  how  superior  in  num 
bers,  the  moment  he  got  them  away  from  their  ships. 
At  Boston  he  succeeded  in  driving  them  out  of  the 
city,  but  took  no  prisoners,  for  the  fleet  received  the 
defeated  troops.  At  New  York  he  could  not,  with 
land  forces,  prevent  the  vessels  of  war  from  outflank 
ing  him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  retreat.  In  the  Jer 
seys,  with  less  than  half  the  men  he  had  in  New  York, 
he  fell  fearlessly  on  his  pursuers,  and  drove  them  back  at 
every  point.  The  only  two  places  left  in  the  enemy's  pos 
session  were  Brunswick  and  Amboy,  both  of  which  had 
water  communication  with  New  York.  The  activity, 
energy,  boldness,  and  success  which  characterized  all  his 
movements  in  the  Jerseys,  show  conclusively  that,  re 
moved  from  the  sea-board,  Washington,  with  ten  thou 
sand  men  wholly  under  his  control  and  enlisted  for  the 


72  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

war,  could  have  destroyed  as  many  armies  of  twenty 
thousand  as  Great  Britain  chose  to  send  against 
him.  He  appears  to  us  calm  and  slow,  but  he  pos 
sessed  a  mind  of  amazing  quickness  of  perception,  and 
the  wonder  is  that  it  could  embrace  so  many  things  at 
once.  No  complexity  of  affairs  could  confuse  him,  and 
no  new  and  untried  positions  find  him  unprepared. 
Congress  looked  up  to  him  as  much  as  his  officers  did ; 
and  when  one  takes  into  contemplation  the  varied 
and  endless  affairs  that  asked  and  received  his  atten 
tion,  he  is  amazed  at  the  clearness  of  his  perceptions 
and  the  wisdom  of  his  views.  His  mind  never  seems 
to  struggle  with  difficulties,  but  overcomes  and  dismisses 
them  without  an  effort.  Cramped  and  fettered  as  he 
was  by  his  limited  powers,  and  fearful  of  encroaching 
on  those  liberties  he  held  so  sacred,  he  let  his  ablest 
plans  prove  abortive  and  his  fondest  hopes  die.  Bona 
parte,  fettered  by  a  weak  government,  boldly  took  the 
supreme  power  into  his  own  hands,  so  that  his  mind 
could  have  free  play,  and  his  vast  plans  full  scope. 
Had  this  power  been  given  to  Washington,  the  first 
nine  months  would  have  seen  an  army  standing  up  on 
our  soil,  against  which  the  legions  of  Europe  would 
have  dashed  in  vain.  The  resources  of  the  nation 
would  have  been  developed — order  sprung  out  of 
chaos,  and  the  somewhat  jarring  and  unsettled  union 
been  compact  as  iron.  But  as  it  was,  his  far-reaching 
plans  were  deferred,  changed,  or  adopted  reluctantly ; 
and  though  Congress  stood  nobly  by  him  through  the 
whole  war,  it  was  with  such  misgivings  and  timidity 
that  the  true  mode  of  conducting  affairs  developed 
slowly.  Yet  in  time  everything  seemed  to  fall  into 


HIS     CAMPAIGNS.  73 

his   mind,   till   the   nation's  thought   took  its  impress 
from  his. 

In  ordinary  men,  multiplied  objects  of  attention  and 
labor  divide  the  energies,  and  thus  weaken  the  force  of 
them  in  any  one  particular  direction.  Not  so  with 
Washington,  for  notwithstanding  all  those  affairs  of 
state  that  engrossed  him,  he  pushed  his  military  plans 
with  the  greatest  vigor,  and  allowed  nothing  to  escape 
his  ubiquitous  mind. 

The  campaign,  which  ended  in   the   surrender  of 
Burgoyne,  was  not  only  planned  by  him,  but  its  result 
accurately  foretold.     The  battle  of  Brandywine  was 
lost  entirely  through  the  false  information  furnished  by 
Sullivan — that   of  Germantown,  on  account  of  a  fog 
which  he  could  not  have  anticipated.     The  attack  was 
bold  and  well  planned,  and  promised  almost  certain  and 
great  success.     The  next  campaign  opened  brilliantly 
with  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  where  his  genius  and 
energy  triumphed  over  every  obstacle.     The  battle  of 
Camden  was  disastrous,  but  Gates  was  appointed  to 
the  command  of  the  southern  army  without  Washing 
ton's  knowledge  or  wish.     It  was  one  of  those  brilliant 
strokes  Congress  sometimes  made  in  defiance  of  the 
commander-in-chief,  and  which  generally  had  the  same 
termination.     Mortified  at  the  disgrace  of  its  favorite 
leader,  it    referred    the    whole    matter   over  to   him, 
where  it  belonged  in  the  first  place.    The  latter,  placing 
Greene   over   the   wrecked  army,   planned  with  him 
that  campaign  which  saved  the  south,  and  crowned  the 
conductor  of  it  with  unfading  laurels.     As  he  brought 
around  Congress  to  his  own  views,  he  gained  every  day 
on  his  adversaries,  liberating  steadily  the  entire  country 


VOL.    I. 


74  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

from  its  enemies  ;  and  finally,  by  one  of  those  sudden 
and  rapid  movements  in  which  he  so  much  delighted, 
closed  around  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown,  and  gave  the 
finishing  blow  to  the  war. 

Men  may  point  here  and  there  to  mistakes  and  vio 
lations  of  good  tactics,  yet,  on  their  own  showing,  there 
is  not  a  military  leader  of  modern  times  who  committed 
fewer  errors,  or  with  so  small  means  accomplished  such 
great  results.  To  start  with  raw  recruits  and  under 
an  army  system,  which,  by  its  short  enlistments,  kept 
him  constantly  commanding  undisciplined  forces — with 
out  a  consolidated  or  efficient  government  to  back  him, 
without  the  means  and  implements  of  war — in  the  midst 
of  suspicions  and  despondency,  to  keep  the  field  against 
one  of  the  strongest  nations  on  the  globe,  and  during  a 
period  of  seven  years  never  meet  with  a  defeat  that 
disorganized  his  army  or  sent  him  a  fugitive  from  the 
field,  and  finally  overwhelm  his  adversaries  and  win 
the  independence  of  his  country — required  a  man  of  no 
ordinary  genius,  and  a  warrior  of  nothing  less  than 
transcendent  abilities. 

But  it  is  not  to  any  one  striking  quality  we  are  to 
look  for  a  true  exponent  of  Washington — it  is  to  the  har 
monious  whole  his  character  presented.  As  a  warrior, 
he  may  be  surpassed,  but  as  a  complete  man,  he  is 
without  a  parallel.  Equal  to  any  crisis,  successful 
in  all  he  undertakes,  superior  to  temptation,  faithful 
in  every  trial,  and  without  a  spot  on  his  name,  the  his 
tory  of  the  race  cannot  match  him.  All  military  men 
become  more  or  less  corrupted  by  a  life  in  the  camp, 
and  many  of  our  best  officers  were  demoralized ;  but 
not  a  stain  clung  to  Washington.  Committing  his 


HIS     MORAL     ELEVATION.  75 

cause  to  God  before  battle,  and  referring  the  victory 
to  Divine  goodness,  he  remained  a  religious  man  through 
a  life  on  the  tented  field. 

In  moral  elevation,  no  warrior  of  ancient  or  modern 
times  approaches  him.  Given  to  no  excess  himself,  he 
sternly  rebuked  it  in  others.  The  principles  of  re 
ligion  were  deeply  engrafted  in  his  heart,  and  as 
there  was  no  stain  on  his  blade,  he  could  go  from 
the  fierce-fought  field  to  the  sacramental  table.  That 
brow  which  would  have  awed  a  Roman  Senate  in 
its  proudest  days,  bent  in  the  dust  before  his  Maker. 
In  the  darkest  night  of  adversity  he  leaned  in  solemn 
faith  on  Him  who  is  "  mightier  than  the  mightiest."  As 
I  see  him  moving  through  the  wretched  hovels  of  Valley 
Forge,  his  heart  wrung  at  the  destitution  and  suffering 
that  meet  his  eye  at  every  step,  slowly  making  his  way 
to  the  silent  forest,  and  there  kneel  in  prayer  in  behalf 
of  his  bleeding  country — that  voice  which  was  never 
known  to  falter  in  the  wildest  of  the  conflict,  choked 
with  emotion — I  seem  to  behold  one  on  whom  God 
has  laid  his  consecrating  hand,  and  all  doubts  and  fears 
of  ultimate  success  vanish  like  morning  mist  before  the 
uprisen  sun.  There  is  no  slavish  fear  of  the  Deity, 
which  formed  so  large  a  part  of  Cromwell's  religion, 
mingled  in  that  devotion,  but  an  unshaken  belief  in 
Truth,  and  a  firm  reliance  on  heaven. 

A  Brutus  in  justice,  he  did  not  allow  personal  friend 
ship  to  sway  his  decision,  or  influence  him  in  the  be- 
stowment  of  favors.  Fearing  neither  the  carnage  of 
battle  nor  the  hatred  of  men,  threats  moved  him  no 
more  than  flatteries ;  and  what  is  stranger  still,  the 
strong  aversion  to  giving  pain  to  his  friends  never 


76  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

swerved  him  from  the  path  of  duty.  Sincere  in  all  his 
declarations,  his  word  was  never  doubted  and  his  prom 
ise  never  broken.  Intrusted  finally  with  almost  su 
preme  power,  he  never  abused  it,  and  laid  it  down  at 
last  more  cheerfully  than  he  had  taken  it  up.  Bona 
parte  vaulting  to  supreme  command,  seized  it  with 
avidity,  and  wielded  it  without  restraint.  The  Direc 
tory  obstructing  his  plans,  he  broke  it  up  with  the 
bayonet.  Cromwell  did  the  same  with  the  Rump  Par 
liament,  and  installed  himself  Protector  of  England, 
and  even  hesitated  long  about  the  title  of  king.  Wash 
ington,  fettered  worse  than  both,  submitted  to  disgrace 
and  defeat  without  using  even  a  disrespectful  word  to 
Congress,  and  rejected  the  offered  crown  with  a  stern 
ness  and  indignation  that  forever  crushed  the  hopes  of 
those  who  presented  it.  Calm  and  strong  in  council, 
untiring  in  effort,  wise  in  policy,  terrible  as  a  storm  in 
battle,  unconquered  in  defeat,  and  incorruptible  in  vir 
tue,  he  rises  in  moral  grandeur  so  far  above  the  Alex 
anders,  and  Caesars,  and  Napoleons  of  the  world,  that 
even  comparison  seems  injustice. 

How  noble  does  he  seem  in  bidding  farewell  to  his 
companions  in  arms,  and  rendering  up  his  command 
to  Congress.  To  part  with  his  soldiers,  with  those 
whom  a  common  suffering  had  bound  to  him  by  a 
thousand  ties,  was  a  heavy  task  to  a  generous  heart 
like  his.  Assembling  them  for  the  last  time  at  New- 
burgh,  he  rode  out  on  the  field,  and  gave  them 
his  farewell  address.  Playing  the  mournful  tune  of 
Roslin  Castle — the  dirge  which  always  accompanies  a 
dead  companion  in  arms  to  his  grave — they  slowly 
marched  by  their  beloved  leader,  and  silently  and  sadly 


FAREWELL      TO      HIS      OFFICERS.  77 

filed  away  to  their  respective  homes.  Ragged,  desti 
tute,  without  a  penny  in  their  pockets,  they  had  long 
revolved  schemes  of  terrible  retribution  against  Con 
gress,  but  the  moment  they  saw  again  the  form  of 
Washington,  all  anger  died,  and  trusting  to  his  simple 
word  for  redress,  they  turned  away  invoking  blessings 
on  his  head.  With  melancholy  feelings  he  watched 
their  lessening  files,  for  all  their  hardships  and  priva 
tions  rose  before  him,  while  their  present  poverty  and 
suffering  moved  his  deepest  sympathy. 

But  to  part  forever  with  his  brother  officers,  who  had 
so  long  sat  with  him  in  council,  shared  his  toils  and  adver 
sities,  and  become  endeared  to  him  by  numberless  proofs 
of  affection,  was  the  greatest  trial  to  which  his  noble  heart 
was  ever  subjected.  It  was  the  fourth  of  December  when 
they,  in  full  uniform,  assembled  in  Francis's  tavern,  New 
York,  to  take  leave  of  their  commander.  About  noon 
Washington  entered,  and  every  form  rose  at  his  presence, 
and  every  eye  turned  to  greet  him.  He  had  come  to  say 
farewell,  but  the  task  seemed  too  great  for  his  self-con 
trol.  Advancing  slowly  to  the  table  he  lifted  the  glass 
to  his  lips,  and  said  in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion, 
"  With  a  heart  full  of  gratitude  and  love,  I  now  take 
leave  of  you  ;  I  most  devoutly  wish  that  your  latter  days 
may  be  as  prosperous  and  happy  as  your  former  ones 
have  been  glorious  and  honorable"  A  mournful  and  pro 
found  silence  followed,  and  each  one  gazed  on  the  face  of 
his  leader.  But  that  noble  countenance  which  had  moved 
so  calm  and  fearless  through  seven  years  of  gloom  and 
carnage,  and  been  the  only  star  of  hope  to  the  troubled 
nation  in  the  night  of  its  distress,  was  now  convulsed  with 
feeling.  There  were  Knox,  and  Greene,  and  Hamilton, 

7* 


(  78  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

and  Steuben,  and  others,  the  locks  of  many  of  whom  had 
whitened  in  the  storm  of  freedom's  battle,  gazing  mourn 
fully  upon  him.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  had  stood 
beside  him  in  the  deadly  combat,  and  with  their  brave 
arms  around  him,  borne  him  all  steadily  through  the  fight. 
He  had  heard  their  battle  shout  on  the  fields  of  his  fame, 
and  seen  them  carry  his  standard  triumphantly  through 
the  smoke  of  the  conflict.  Brave  hearts  were  they  all 
and  true,  on  whom  he  had  leaned,  and  not  in  vain,  in  the 
hour  of  peril,  and  now  he  was  to  leave  them  forever. 
A  thousand  proofs  of  their  devotion  came  rushing  back 
on  his  memory — their  toils  and  conflicts  rose  before  him, 
and  the  whole  history  of  the  past  with  its  chequered 
scenes  swept  by,  till  his  heart  sunk  in  affection  and 
grief.  And  there  they  stood,  a  noble  band  of  them — 
the  eye  unaccustomed  to  weep,  flowing  in  tears,  and  the 
lip  that  seemed  made  of  iron  in  the  carnage  and  din  of 
the  strife,  quivering  with  emotion.  Washington  gazed 
on  them  a  moment  in  silent  sorrow,  and  then  turning 
to  Knox,  grasped  his  hand  and  clasped  him  in  his  arms. 
Neither  could  utter  a  word,  and  the  spectacle  melted 
every  heart.  Thus  did  one  after  another  receive  the 
embrace  of  his  commander,  and  Washington,  with 
bursting  heart,  turned  awa^".  As  he  passed  uncovered 
through  the  corps  of  light  infantry  drawn  up  on  either 
side  to  receive  him,  a  gigantic  soldier  who  had  moved 
by  his  side  in  that  dark  and  terrible  night  when  he 
marched  on  Trenton,  stepped  forth  from  the  ranks,  and 
reaching  out  his  arms,  exclaimed,  "Farewell,  my  dear 
general,  farewell  /"  Washington  seized  his  hardy 
hand  in  both  of  his,  and  wrung  it  convulsively.  In  a 
moment  all  discipline  was  at  end,  and  the  soldiers  broke 


PARTING  WITH  LAFAYETTE.         79 

their  order,  and  rushing  around  him,  seized  him  by  the 
hands,  covering  them  with  tears  and  sobs  of  sorrow. 
This  was  the  last  drop  in  the  overflowing  cup,  and  as 
Washington  moved  away,  his  broad  chest  heaved  and 
swelled  above  the  tide  of  feeling,  that  had  at  last  burst 
the  sway  of  his  strong  will,  and  the  big  tears  rolled 
unchecked  down  his  manly  face.  At  length  he  reached 
Whitehall,  where  a  barge  was  waiting  to  receive  him. 
Entering  it,  he  turned  a  moment  and  waved  his  hat 
over  his  head  in  a  last  adieu  to  the  mute  and  noble 
band  on  the  shore,  when  the  boat  shot  away,  and  the 
impressive  scene  was  over. 

Thus,  link  after  link  was  severed,  and  there  remain 
ed  now  but  to  surrender  up  his  commission  as  eom- 
mander-in-chief,  to  cut  the  last  tie  that  bound  him  to 
the  past.  Entering  the  House  of  Congress,  while  a 
silence  like  that  of  death  filled  the  chamber,  he  said, 
with  that  dignity  which  became  him,  "  Having  now 
finished  the  work  assigned  me,  I  retire  from  the  great 
theatre  of  action,  and  bidding  an  affectionate  farewell 
to  this  august  body,  under  whose  orders  I  have  so  long 
acted,  I  here  offer  my  commission,  and  take  my  leave 
of  all  the  employments  of  life." 

Though  grave  and  severe  when  occasion  demanded  it, 
Washington  had  a  heart  full  of  the  warmest,  tenderest 
affections.  His  parting  with  Lafayette  was  another 
touching  incident  in  his  life,  illustrating  this  trait  in  his 
character.  The  young  and  generous-hearted  nobleman 
had  left  all  the  joys  and  delights  of  home  to  become  a  vol 
unteer  in  a  cause  where  renown  was  not  to  be  expected. 
Brave  and  virtuous  himself,  he  so  wound  himself 
around  the  heart  of  Washington,  that  the  most  intimate 


80  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

friendship   sprung  up   between   them,  and   continued 
through  life.     After  peace  was  proclaimed,  the  young 
Marquis  made  a  visit  to  Mount  Vernon,  previous  to  his 
departure  for  France.     Washington  accompanied  him 
on  his  route  far  as  Annapolis,  and  there  the  two  friends 
parted  forever.     Of  their  conversation   by   the  way, 
and   the   manly   grief  of  the   final   adieu,   we   know 
nothing:   but  Washington's   letter   to  Lafayette  soon 
after,  shows  with  what  strength   and   tenderness   he 
loved  him.     Says  he,  "  In  the  moment  of  our  separa 
tion,  upon  the  road,  as   I  travelled,  and   every  hour 
since,  I  have  felt  all  that  love,  respect  and  attachment 
for  you,  which  length  of  years,  close  connection,  and 
your  merits  have  inspired  me.     I  often  asked  myself 
as  our  carriages  separated,  whether  that  was  the  last 
sight  I  ever  should  have  of  you  ?     And  though  I  wish 
ed  to  say  No,  my  fears  answered  Yes.     I  called  to 
mind  the  days  of  my  youth,  and  found  they  had  long 
since  fled  to  return  no  more  ;  that  I  was  now  descend 
ing  the  hill  I  had  been  fifty-two  years  climbing,  and 
that  though  I  was  blest  with  a  good  constitution,  I  was 
of  a  short-lived  family,  and  might  soon  expect  to  be 
entombed    in    the   mansion    of   my    fathers.      These 
thoughts  darkened  the  shades,  and  gave  a  gloom  to  the 
picture,  and  consequently  to   my  prospect  of  seeing 
you  again."     How  simple  and  affectionate  is  this  lan 
guage — it  seems  more  like  the  warm  and  generous  love 
of  a  youth,  than  the  affection  of  a  man  of  fifty-two, 
whose  hairs  had  grown  white  on  the  field  of  battle. 
The  whole  scene  reminds  one  of  the  touching  farewell 
between  him  and  his  aged  mother,  at  his  departure  for 
New  York,  previous  to  his  entering  on  the  duties  of 


PARTING     WITH     HIS     MOTHER.  81 

President  of  the  United  States.  She  was  at  Freder 
ick  sburg,  where  he  had  gone  to  see  her.  As  he  was 
departing  he  told  her  that  he  had  been  elected  chief 
magistrate  of  the  confederacy,  and  before  assuming 
the  duties  of  his  office,  he  had  come  to  bid  her  an  affec 
tionate  farewell.  Soon  as  the  public  business  was 
over  he  promised  to  return.  His  mother  interrupted 
him  in  the  midst  of  his  speech,  saying,  "  You  will  see 
me  no  more.  My  great  age,  and  the  disease  which  is 
fast  approaching  my  vitals,  warn  me  that  I  shall  not 
be  long  in  this  world.  But  go,  George,  fulfil  the  high 
destinies  which  Heaven  appears  to  assign  you  ;  go,  my 
son,  and  may  Heaven's  and  your  mother's  blessing  be 
with  you  always."  Washington  overcome  by  her 
words,  leaned  his  head  on  her  aged  shoulder  and 
wept.  The  hero  and  the  man  sunk  before  the  feelings 
of  the  son,  and  tears  that  honored  him  more  than  the 
laurels  he  wore,  stood  on  his  care-furrowed  cheek. 
What  a  scene  for  a  painter  do  they  present  as  they 
thus  stand  together.  That  tall  and  commanding  form, 
which  had  been  the  terror  of  so  many  battle-fields, 
bowed  over  the  trembling  form  of  his  mother,  and 
that  brow  before  which  the  nation  bent  in  homage,  hid 
on  her  neck  in  silent  grief. 

Of  Washington  as  a  statesman,  I  design  to  say  but 
little.  At  the  close  of  the  war,  public  feeling  was  in 
such  a  ferment,  and  the  jealousies  of  the  separate  states 
so  strongly  excited,  that  without  the  greatest  care  the 
whole  fabric  which  had  been  reared  with  so  much 
blood  and  toil  would  fall  in  ruins.  But  the  Providence 
that  had  watched  over  our  affairs,  brought  unanimity 
into  our  councils,  and  the  constitution  was  adopted. 


82  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

Then  the  general  voice  called  on  Washington  to  be 
come  chief  magistrate  of  the  Union.  The  nation 
looked  to  him  as  its  saviour  from  the  strife  of  factions, 
and  all  the  perils  incident  to  a  new  and  untried  govern 
ment.  The  tottering  structure  needed  his  mighty  hand 
to  steady  it,  and  public  faith  required  his  virtue  'to  satis 
fy  it.  Against  his  will — yielding  to  the  strong  sense 
of  duty,  he  consented  to  leave  the  private  life  so  dear 
to  him,  and  take  upon  his  shoulders  again  the  responsi 
bilities  he  had  so  long  borne. 

Every  electoral  vote  was  cast  for  him,  and  he  was 
chosen  President  by  universal  acclamation.  His  jour 
ney  to  New  York  was  one  great  ovation — the  people 
flocked  in  crowds  along  the  way,  and  one  exultant 
shout  followed  him  from  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Hudson.  At  Trenton,  the  citizens 
decorated  the  bridge  over  the  Assanpink,  on  whose 
banks  he  lay  encamped  the  night  before  he  marched 
on  Princeton,  with  a  triumphal  arch,  on  which  was 
inscribed — 

THE    HERO    WHO    DEFENDED    THE    MOTHERS, 
WILL    ALSO    PROTECT    THE    DAUGHTERS. 

At  the  farther  extremity  stood  a  crowd  of  little  girls 
arrayed  in  white,  with  garlands  around  their  temples 
and  baskets  of  flowers  in  their  hands,  and  behind 
them  a  throng  of  maidens  robed  also  in  white,  and  still 
farther  in  the  background,  the  aged  fathers  and  mo 
thers.  As  Washington  approached,  these  children  and 
maidens  lifted  their  voices  with  one  accord,  and  rolled 
their  song  of  welcome  to  the  sky,  and  as  the  chorus, 
"  Strew  your  hero's  way  with  flowers," 


TRIUMPHAL     PROCESSION.  83 

died  away,  they  scattered  their  flowers  in  his  path. 
Dashing  the  gathering  tear  from  his  eye,  the  chieftain 
moved  onward  through  the  beautiful  ranks.  At  Eliza- 
bethtown  Point,  an  elegant  barge  manned  by  thirteen 
pilots,  was  waiting  to  receive  him.  As  he  entered  this, 
the  shores  shook  with  the  shouts  of  the  multitude,  and 
amid  the  pealing  of  trumpets  and  strains  of  martial 
music,  the  boat  parted  from  the  strand,  and  moved 
away.  As  it  swept  over  the  smooth  waters  of  New 
York  bay,  it  was  followed  by  a  fleet  of  vessels  flutter 
ing  with  ribbons,  and  gay  with  decorations,  and  crowded 
with  spectators.  Hovering  around  the  barge  of  Wash 
ington,  singing  paeans  of  victory  and  playing  triumph 
ant  strains,  they  seemed  to  waft  him  onward  to  the 
arms  that  were  open  to  receive  him.  As  he  ap 
proached  the  city,  the  thunder  of  artillery  met  his  ear, 
calling  to  mind  those  dark  years  when  he  so  often 
heard  it  on  the  field  of  carnage.  But  how  changed 
was  the  scene  ;  then  they  swept  in  terror  through  the 
ranks  of  freemen,  now  they  welcomed  with  their  sullen 
roar  freedom's  champion  to  the  highest  place  in  the 
gift  of  his  grateful  countrymen.  As  he  touched  the 
shore,  one  protracted,  loud  "  LONG  LIVE  WASHINGTON," 
rent  the  air,  and  the  artillery  again  blent  in  their  deaf 
ening  roar  to  swell  the  loud  acclaim.  A  long  military 
train  escorted  him  to  the  house  selected  for  his  abode, 
and  amid  the  waving  of  standards  and  pealing  of  trum 
pets,  he  entered  the  dwelling  prepared  to  receive  him. 
Mirth  and  festivity  ruled  the  hour,  and  all  night  long 
the  blazing  city  shook  to  the  shouts  of  the  joyous  popu 
lace. 

His   feelings    under  this   outburst   of   popular   en- 


84  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

thusiasm  exhibit  a  purity  and  nobleness  of  heart  never 
witnessed  in  any  hero  of  ancient  or  modern  times. 

He  who  passes  through  years  of  trial  and  change 
learns  the  fickleness  of  the  multitude,  and  at  length 
comes  to  despise  those  exhibitions  of  love  which  the 
first  disaster  will  change  into  moody  silence  or  open 
hatred.  Thus  Cromwell,  when  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Westminster  to  be  installed  Lord  Protector,  gazed  on 
a  scene  like  that  which  met  the  eye  of  Washington,  and 
as  those  beside  him  exclaimed,  "  What  a  concourse  ! 
what  acclamations  !"  "  Yes,"  he  sarcastically  replied, 
"  but  there  would  be  much  more  if  I  was  to  be  hanged." 
There  spoke  forth  a  strong  soul  which  has  lost  its  faith 
in  human  virtue.  But  Washington,  equally  conscious 
how  little  reliance  can  be  placed  on  popular  feelings, 
is  filled  with  sadness  instead  of  scorn,  and  says,  "  The 
departure  of  the  boats  which  attended  me,  and  joined 
on  this  occasion,  some  with  vocal  and  some  with 
instrumental  music  on  board — the  decorations  of  the 
ships,  the  roar  of  cannon,  and  the  loud  acclamations  of 
the  people  which  rent  the  air  as  I  passed  along  the 
wharves — filled  my  mind  with  sensations  (contemplating 
the  reverse  of  this  scene,  which  may  be  the  case  after  all 
my  labors  to  do  good)  as  painful  as  they  were  pleasing." 
What  a  flood  of  light  does  this  single  sentence  throw 
on  his  character.  Surrounded  with  all  the  pageantry 
that  dazzles  and  intoxicates  the  soul,  greeted  by  triumph 
ant  strains  of  music  and  shouts  that  rocked  the  hea 
vens  above  him,  no  feeling  of  pride  or  vanity  arose  in 
his  heart.  Absorbed  with  the  responsibilities  he  is 
about  to  assume — thinking  only  of  the  country  he  loves 
better  than  his  life — his  rnind  passes  on  to  the  time 


HIS     ADMINISTRATION.  85 

when  his  best  efforts  may  be  misjudged,  and  his  fondest 
hopes  extinguished. 

His  administration  was  distinguished  by  that  wisdom 
and  virtue  which  had  ever  characterized  him.     In  car 
rying  out  the  separate  requirements  of  the  constitution, 
he  was  governed  by  that  pure  patriotism  which  is  bound 
by  no  personal  feelings,  or  views  of  self-aggrandizement. 
Laboring  assiduously  to  master  both  home  and  foreign 
affairs,  he  succeeded  in  harmonizing  the  discordant  ele 
ments  about  him,  and  made  his  government  steady  at 
home  and  respected  abroad.     In  forming  the  supreme 
judiciary — filling  the  several  departments  of  state — in 
establishing  a  national  bank — in  protecting  our  fron 
tiers  from  Indian  depredations,  and  in  developing  all  the 
resources  of  the  country,  he  showed  himself  to  be  the 
greatest  statesman  of  the  nation,  as  he  was  its  greatest 
military  leader.     When  the  first  four  years  of  his  ad 
ministration  closed,  he  fondly  hoped  that  he  would  be 
permitted  to  retire  to  private  life ;  but  men  of  all  par 
ties  who  cared  for  their  country,  felt  that  his  command 
ing  influence  and  wisdom  were  indispensable  in  order 
to  fix  firmly  and  forever  that  which  he  had  only  settled 
into  repose  ;  and  declaring  that,  if  he  should  not  remain, 
the  tottering  fabric  would  fall,  they  with  one  voice 
besought  him,  by  all  that  was  dear  to  him  in  the  Union, 
to  serve  another  term.     They  knew  that  Washington's 
only  weak  side  was  his  patriotism,  and  this  they  plied 
with  all  the  arguments  they  knew  so  well  how  to  use. 
Though  he  had  reached  his  threescore  years,  and  pined 
for  the  rest  of  a  quiet  home,  he  again  took  on  him  the 
burdens  of  office.    The  nation  prospered  under  his  rule. 
Words  of  wisdom  and  piety  dropped  from  his  lips,  and 
VOL.  i.  8 


GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 


stretching  out  his  arms  over  the  Union,  both  the  founda 
tion  and  topmost  stone  of  which  he  had  laid,  he  gave  it 
his  last  blessing.  Had  his  counsels  been  obeyed,  and 
all  his  successors  followed  in  his  footsteps,  this  nation 
would  not  only  have  stood  first  among  the  powers  of 
the  earth,  but  been  the  especial  favorite  of  heaven. 

In  politics  he  was  a  strong  Federalist.  Knowing  that 
in  a  republic  the  tendency  is  to  radicalism  instead  of  mo 
narchy,  he  wished  to  gather  around  the  Federal  Govern 
ment  all  the  checks  he  could,  consistent  with  the  largest 
liberty.  Jefferson  was  his  bitter  antagonist,  and  caused 
him  more  trouble  and  anxiety  than  all  other  things  put 
together.  If  there  is  the  same  difference  in  their  prin 
ciples  that  there  was  in  their  characters,  woe  worth 
the  day  when  we  adopted  those  of  the  former.  Full 
of  hope  and  strength,  we  may  fear  nothing  now  ;  but  he 
who  writes  the  last  history  of  republics,  will  point  to 
the  spot  where  we  deviated  from  the  counsels  and 
principles  of  Washington  as  the  starting-place  of  our 
troubles. 

At  the  age  of  sixty-five,  having  committed  his  coun 
try  in  solemn  faith  to  the  God  in  whom  he  had  trusted, 
he  bade  a  final  adieu  to  the  cares  of  public  life,  and 
turned  his  weary  steps  to  Mount  Vernon.  As  we  see 
him  approach  his  quiet  home,  his  locks  white  with  the 
frosts  of  time,  and  his  benevolent  cheek  furrowed  with 
age  and  the  cares  and  anxiety  of  a  life  of  toil,  we  invol 
untary  murmur,  "  great  and  good  man,  peace  be  about 
thy  declining  years,  and  the  smile  of  God  on  thy  last 
hours." 

When  he  gave  up  his  command  of  the  army  and 
retired  to  Mount  Vernon,  to  be  troubled,  as  he  sup- 


HIS     LAST     HOURS.  87 

posed,  no  more  with  the  cares  of  office,  he  wrote  to 
Lafayette,  saying,  "  At  length  I  am  become  a  private 
citizen  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  and  under  the 
shadow  of  my  own  vine  and  my  own  fig  tree,  free 
from  the  bustle  of  a  camp  and  the  busy  scenes  of  pub 
lic  life,  I  am  relieving  myself  with  those  tranquil  enjoy 
ments  of  which  the  soldier,  who  is  ever  in  pursuit  of 
fame,  the  statesman,  whose  watchful  days  and  sleepless 
nights  are  spent  in  devising  schemes,  the  welfare  of  his 
own,  perhaps  the  ruin  of  other  countries,  as  if  this  globe 
was  insufficient  for  us  all,  and  the  courtier  who  is  al 
ways  watching  the  countenance  of  his  prince  in  hopes 
of  catching  a  gracious  smile,  can  have  very  little  con 
ception.     I  have  not  only  retired  from  all  public  em 
ployments,  but  I  am  retiring  within  myself,  and  shall 
be  able  to  view  the  solitary  walk  and  tread  the  paths 
of  private  life  with  a  heartfelt  satisfaction.     Envious  of 
none,  I  am  determined  to  be  pleased  with  all,  and  this, 
my  dear  friend,  being  the  order  of  my  march,  I  will 
move  gently  down  the  stream  of  life,  until  I  sleep  with 
my  fathers."     That  delightful  repose  was  broken  up, 
and  eight  years  more  of  labor  and  anxiety  were  passed. 
And  when  at  last  his  favorite  wish  was  gratified,  and  he 
sat  down  on  his  own  farm,  the  tiller  of  his  own  soil,  he 
had  scarcely  begun  to  enjoy  his  liberty,  before  death 
came  and  suddenly  snatched  him  from  the  sight  of  the 
stunned  and  sorrow-struck  nation.     Only  two  years  of 
rest  were  allowed  him,  and  then  he  was  taken  to  that 
eternal  rest  prepared  for  the  good.     His  last  hours 
were  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Riding  out  one  day  on  horseback  to  visit  his  farm, 
he  was  overtaken  with  a  storm  of  sleet  and  rain  which 


88  GEORGE     WASHINGTON. 

chilled  him  through.  A  severe  cold  followed  this  ex 
posure,  which  settling  in  his  throat  hurried  him  rap 
idly  into  the  grave.  The  efforts  of  physicians  were 
powerless  to  arrest  the  disease,  and  it  was  soon  evi 
dent  to  all,  and  to  none  more  than  to  himself,  that  his 
hours  were  fast  drawing  to  a  close.  His  sufferings 
were  intense,  and  his  breath  came  difficult  and  thick, 
yet  he  bore  all  with  the  fortitude  of  a  great  mind  and 
the  resignation  of  a  Christian.  " / die  hard"  said  he, 
"  but  lam  not  afraid  to  die.  I  believed  from  my  first 
that  I  should  not  survive  it.  My  breath  cannot  last 
long."  This  was  said  with  great  difficulty,  and  he 
spoke  little  after,  and  then  only  to  thank  the  physi 
cians,  and  request  them  to  spare  themselves  farther 
trouble,  and  let  him  die  quietly.  From  that  time  he 
sunk  gradually  away,  and  on  the  night  of  the  14th  of 
December,  1799,  two  days  after  his  attack,  he  ceased 
to  breathe. 

Not  in  the  delirium  of  battle  did  his  soul,  like  that 
of  Napoleon,  take  its  flight,  but  calmly  sunk  to  rest 
amid  the  lamentations  of  a  heart-broken  people.  Sol 
emn  ceremonies  attended  the  funeral,  and  thousands 
followed  the  slow  procession — but  the  mourners  were 
not  all  there — they  were  scattered  on  every  hill  and 
along  every  valley  of  this  free  land.  Minute  guns 
were  fired  as  his  body  was  borne  to  the  place  of  bu 
rial,  and  his  old  war  horse,  saddled  and  bridled,  walked 
riderless  beside  the  coffin.  That  noble  steed  he  should 
never  mount  again,  and  to  that  cold  cheek  the  loud 
pealing  cannon  could  never  again  send  the  blood  as  of 
yore.  His  work  was  done — his  fierce  battles  over,  and 
crowned  with  the  noblest  laurels  ever  worn  by  a  ere- 


THE     HAND     OF     PROVIDENCE.  89 

ated  brow,  the  more  than  kingly  sleeper  was  laid  in  his 
last  resting  place.  The  land  was  hung  in  crape,  and 
one  convulsive  sob  shook  the  heart  of  the  nation.  No 
people  ever  mourned  a  leader  so,  and  no  leader  before 
was  ever  worthy  such  a  sorrow.  Even  the  young  re 
public  of  France,  then  wading  in  blood,  put  on  crape, 
and  imposing  ceremonies  were  decreed  in  his  honor 
by  the  young  Napoleon. 

No  one,  in  tracing  the  history  of  our  struggle,  can 
deny  that  Providence  watched  over  our  interests,  and 
gave  us  the  only  man  who  could  have  conducted  the 
car  of  the  Revolution  to  the  goal  it  finally  reached. 
Our  revolution  brought  to  a  speedy  crisis  the  one  that 
must  sooner  or  later  have  convulsed  France.  One  was 
as  much  needed  as  the  other,  and  has  been  productive 
of  equal  good.  But  in  tracing  the  progress  of  each, 
how  striking  is  the  contrast  between  the  instruments 
employed — Napoleon  and  Washington.  Heaven  and 
earth  are  not  wider  apart  than  were  their  moral 
characters,  yet  both  were  sent  of  Heaven  to  perform 
a  great  work.  God  acts  on  more  enlarged  plans  than 
the  bigoted  and  ignorant  have  any  conception  of,  and 
adapts  his  instruments  to  the  work  he  wishes  to  ac 
complish.  To  effect  the  regeneration  of  a  compara 
tively  religious,  virtuous  and  intelligent  people,  no 
better  man  could  have  been  selected  than  Washington. 
To  rend  asunder  the  feudal  system  of  Europe,  which 
stretched  like  an  iron  frame-'work  over  the  people,  and 
had  rusted  so  long  in  its  place,  that  no  slow  corrosion 
or  steadily  wasting  power  could  affect  its  firmness, 
there  could  have  been  found  no  better  than  Bonaparte. 
Their  missions  were  as  different  as  their  characters. 

8* 


90  GEORGE      WASHINGTON. 

Had  Bonaparte  been  put  in  the  place  of  Washington, 
he  would  have  overthrown  the  Congress,  as  he  did  the 
Directory,  and  taking  supreme  power  into  his  hands, 
developed  the  resources,  and  kindled  the  enthusiasm 
of  this  country  with  such  astonishing  rapidity,  that  the 
war  would  scarcely  have  begun  ere  it  was  ended. 
But  a  vast  and  powerful  monarchy  instead  of  a  re 
public,  would  have  occupied  this  continent.  Had 
Washington  been  put  in  the  place  of  Bonaparte,  his 
transcendent  virtues  and  unswerving  integrity  would 
not  have  prevailed  against  the  tyranny  of  faction,  and 
a  prison  would  have  received  him,  as  it  did  Lafayette. 
Both  were  children  of  a  revolution,  both  rose  to  the 
chief  command  of  the  army,  and  eventually  to  the 
head  of  the  nation.  One  led  his  country  step  by  step 
to  freedom  and  prosperity,  the  other  arrested  at  once, 
and  with  a  strong  hand,  the  earthquake  that  was  rock 
ing  France  asunder,  and  sent  it  rolling  under  the 
thrones  of  Europe.  The  office  of  one  was  to  defend 
and  build  up  Liberty,  that  of  the  other  to  break  down 
the  prison  walls  in  which  it  lay  a  captive,  and  rend 
asunder  its  century-bound  fetters.  To  suppose  that 
France  could  have  been  managed  as  America  was,  by 
any  human  hand,  shows  an  ignorance  as  blind  as  it  is 
culpable.  That,  and  every  other  country  of  Europe 
will  have  to  pass  through  successive  stages  before  they 
can  reach  the  point  at  which  our  revolution  commen 
ced.  Here  Liberty  needed  virtue  and  patriotism,  as  well 
as  strength — on  the  continent  it  needed  simple  power, 
concentrated  and  terrible  power.  Europe  at  this  day 
trembles  over  that  volcano  Napoleon  kindled,  and 


DESIGNS     OF     PROVIDENCE.  91 

the  next  eruption  will  finish  what  he  begun.  Thus 
does  Heaven,  selecting  its  own  instruments,  break  up 
the  systems  of  oppression  men  deemed  eternal,  and  out 
of  the  power  and  ambition,  as  well  as  out  of  the  virtues 
of  men,  work  the  welfare  <  f  our  race. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

His  Early  Life— Enlists  in  the  English  Army— Perilous  Adventure 
at  Crown  Point  —  At  the  Ovens  —  Massacre  at  Fort  William 
Henry — Saves  a  Magazine  of  Powder  from  the  Flames — Battle  ty 
Moonlight— Is  taken  Prisoner— Battle  of  Bunker  Hill— Break-neck 
Ride  down  a  Precipice— Struck  with  Paralysis— His  Character. 

IT  is  well  known  that  the  battles  of  Concord  and 
Lexington  opened  the  civil  war,  which  after  years  of 
varied  success  ended  in  the  establishment  of  our  pres 
ent  government.  As  the  tidings  of  their  result  flew 
over  the  land,  men  everywhere  rushed  to  arms.  The 
farmer  snatched  his  trusty  firelock  from  its  resting- 
place,  and  the  mechanic  threw  aside  his  instruments  for 
the  musket,  and  all  went  pouring  forward  to  Boston, 
and  in  a  short  time  an  army  of  thirty  thousand  men 
environed  the  city.  It  was  an  army,  however,  only  in 
name,  for  it  had  none  of  the  order  or  discipline  or  ap 
pendages  entitling  it  to  such  an  appellation.  The  troops 
were  without  uniform,  having  come  together  just  as 
they  had  left  their  fields  and  their  shops,  and  would 
obey  no  orders  except  those  which  suited  their  incli 
nations,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  rules  of  regular  war 
fare.  They  had  but  sixteen  cannon  in  all,  and  of  these 


THE     SPIRIT     OF     THE     NATION.  93 

only  six  were  fit  for  use,  while  there  was  not  sufficient 
powder  even  for  those  six.  Forty  one  barrels  were 
all  that  could  be  raised,  and  thus  miserably  furnished, 
and  destitute  of  magazines  and  of  provisions,  this  motley, 
mighty  multitude  began  the  war.  The  spirit  which 
animated  it,  however,  was  prophetic  of  a  desperate 
struggle  to  come.  They  were  free-born  men,  inured 
to  toil,  accustomed  to  danger,  and  resolute  in  purpose. 
The  reply  of  Charles  Thompson,  afterwards  secretary 
of  Congress,  to  Franklin  then  in  London,  had  proved 
true.  The  night  after  the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act, 
the  latter  wrote  to  his  friend  in  America,  saying,  "  The 
sun  of  Liberty  is  set — the  Americans  must  light  up  the 
lamps  of  industry  and  economy."  "  Be  assured,"  was 
the  spirited  reply,  "  we  shall  light  up  torches  of  an 
other  sort"  So  also,  when  Lord  Percy,  marching 
through  Roxbury  on  his  way  to  destroy  the  stores  at 
Concord  and  Lexington,  asked  a  youth  whom  he 
saw  smile  as  his  band  insultingly  played  Yankee  Doo 
dle,  why  he  laughed,  received  for  reply,  "  To  think 
how  you  will  dance  by-and-by  to  the  tune  of  Chevy 
Chase."  Thus  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  every 
heart  seemed  to  take  the  same  resolve  and  to  forecast 
with  prophetic  clearness  the  coming  struggle. 

On  the  very  day  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was 
fought,  and  while  the  flames  of  Charlestown  were 
shooting  heavenward,  and  the  loud  hurra  was  ringing 
over  the  intrenchments  of  the  Americans,  Congress 
was  voting  the  appointment  of  Washington  as  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  American  army.  Two  ominous 
facts,  and  which  fixed  beyond  recall  the  Revolution. 

Immediately  after  Washington's  appointment,  Con- 


94  MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

gress  created  four  major-generals  and  eight  brigadiers 
for  the  continental  army.  To  the  former  rank  were 
appointed  Israel  Putnam,  Artemas  Ward,  Charles  Lee, 
and  Philip  Schuyler ;  to  the  latter,  Seth  Pomeroy, 
Richard  Montgomery,  William  Heath,  Joseph  Spen 
cer,  David  Wooster,  John  Thomas,  John  Sullivan,  and 
Nathaniel  Greene.  Horatio  Gates  was  added  as  adju 
tant-general,  with  the  rank  of  brigadier.  Some  of  these 
officers  had  distinguished  themselves  in  the  French  and 
Indian  war,  and  none  perhaps  more  than  Putnam.  He 
was  at  this  time  fifty-seven  years  of  age,  but  tough  as 
iron.  His  ten  years'  experience  in  the  camp  had  not 
only  given  him  a  knowledge  of  military  affairs,  but  also 
a  frame  of  almost  superhuman  endurance,  and  a  spirit 
fearless  of  danger. 

Born  in  Salem,  in  January,  1718,  he  was  destined  to 
the  humble  occupation  of  a  farmer.  Receiving  no  edu 
cation  except  that  imparted  in  the  common  schools  of 
the  day,  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  he  had  to 
rely  upon  his  own  genius  and  force  to  succeed  in  life. 
Strong  and  vigorous,  he  excelled  in  all  the  athletic 
sports  of  youth.  None  could  pitch  the  bar  farther  than 
he,  and  in  his  iron  grasp  the  strongest  playmate  went 
down.  He  early  exhibited  that  resolute  courage  which 
formed  the  most  striking  trait  in  his  character.  On  his 
first  visit  to  Boston,  then  a  lad,  he  flogged  a  boy  twice 
his  age  and  size,  for  daring  to  insult  him  as  an  ignorant 
rustic.  When  twenty  years  of  age,  he  married  a  Miss 
Pope,  of  Salem,  and  removed  to  Pomfret,  where  he  set 
tled  down  a  quiet  farmer.  Here  occurred  the  famous 
wolf  adventure,  which  evinced  the  daring  and  intre 
pidity  that  afterwards  distinguished  him.  This  she- 


ENTERSTHEARMY.  95 

wolf,  which  he  followed  into  her  den  and  shot  by  the 
light  of  the  blazing  torch  he  held  in  his  hand,  had  exas 
perated  him  by  killing  seventy  sheep  and  goats  of  his 
flock  in  a  single  night. 

He  continued  his  peaceful  avocations  till  the  French 
and  Indian  war  broke  out,  when  he  threw  up  his  em 
ployment  and  enlisted  under  Sir  William  Johnson,  who 
was  to  act  against  Crown  Point.     The  young  farmer 
was  then  thirty-six  years  of  age,  and  from  his  known 
energy  and  courage  received  the  command  of  a  com 
pany.     Here  his  military  career  fairly  commenced,  and 
free  scope  was  given  to  his  energies.     His  company 
acted  as  rangers,  which  made  the  life  of  Putnam  one 
of  constant  activity  and  danger.     On  one  occasion  he 
was  sent  from  Fort  Edward  with  some  light  troops  to 
reconnoitre  Crown  Point.     He  proceeded  to  within  a 
short  distance  of  the  fort,  when  fearful  of  being  dis 
covered,  he  concealed  his  men  behind  some  bushes, 
and  with  Major  Rogers  advanced  alone  towards  the 
enemy.    In  making  their  investigations,  however,  they 
tarried  too  long ;  for  the  sun  rising  over  the  hill-tops, 
flooded  the  fields  with  light,  which  were  also  soon  cov 
ered  with  soldiers  hurrying  out  of  the  fort.     The  two 
young  officers  dared  not  attempt  to  cross  the  open 
ground,  and  so  lay  concealed,  trusting  to  good  fortune 
to  give  them  a  chance  of  escape.     After  a  couple  of 
hours,  a  soldier  stumbled  upon  Rogers,  who  lay  a  short 
distance  from  Putnam,  and  immediately  attacked  him, 
calling  at  the  same  time  upon  his  companions  to  come 
to  his  help.     Putnam  seeing  the  danger  of  his  comrade, 
and  fearing  to  fire  lest  he  should  bring  a  whole  guard 
on  him,  leaped  from  his  place  of  concealment,  and 


96  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

fetching  the  Frenchman  one  blow  with  his  gun,  laid 
him  dead  at  his  feet.  The  two  friends  then  took  to 
their  heels,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  their  party  in 
safety. 

The  next  year  he  was  stationed  at  Ticonderoga. 
His  known  boldness  and  enterprise  caused  him  to  be 
employed  frequently  on  missions  requiring  courage, 
resolution,  and  promptness.  Having  been  sent  on  one 
occasion  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy  at  a  place  called  the 
Ovens,  he  took  with  him  Lieutenant  Durkee,  afterward 
burned  at  the  stake  in  the  massacre  of  Wyoming,  and 
set  out  for  the  French  camp.  Deceived  by  the  watch- 
fires,  which  were  placed  in  the  centre  instead  of  along 
the  outer  lines,  they  kept  advancing  till  they  suddenly 
found  themselves  in  the  very  heart  of  the  enemy's 
camp.  Being  discovered,  a  shower  of  bullets  was 
rained  upon  them,  one  of  which  struck  Durkee  in  the 
thigh.  The  two  friends  made  off  at  the  top  of  their 
speed,  though  a  hundred  muskets  blazed  on  their  path. 
Putnam  was  ahead  and  going  at  a  furious  rate,  when 
he  pitched  head  foremost  into  a  clay  pit,  followed  close 
by  Durkee.  The  former  finding  himself  overlaid  in 
the  darkness  by  a  strange  man,  was  on  the  point  of 
stabbing  him,  when  Durkee  spoke.  Lifting  themselves 
out  of  this  dilemma  as  they  best  could,  they  pushed  on 
amid  the  random  bullets  which  were  falling  like  hail 
stones  about  them.  At  length  coming  to  a  log,  they 
threw  themselves  behind  it  to  wait  for  the  morning. 
The  hours  passing  rather  wearily,  Putnam  thought  a 
drink  from  his  canteen  would  not  be  disagreeable,  so 
twisting  it  around,  he  raised  it  to  his  mouth.  But,  to 
his  surprise,  he  found  it  as  dry  as  his  powder-horn,  and 


FEARFUL     MASSACRE.  97 

on  examination  discovered  that  a  bullet  had  passed  di 
rectly  through  it,  and  emptied  out  all  the  contents. 
Here  he  remained  till  daylight,  when  on  examining  his 
outer  person,  he  found  fourteen  bullet-holes  through  his 
blanket.  How  he  escaped  a  wound  is  passing  strange 
but  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  seem  eternally  seek 
ing  death  without  being  able  to  find  it.  There  are 
some  persons  in  the  world  who  appear  to  bear  a 
charmed  life,  which  no  amount  of  daring  or  exposure 
can  endanger.  Foremost  in  the  charge,  and  the  last 
to  retreat,  they  are  never  found  with  the  dead.  Fate 
seems  to  delight  to  place  them  in  the  most  desperate 
straits  on  purpose  to  make  their  deliverance  appear  the 
more  miraculous.  Putnam  was  one  of  those  favored 
beings,  and  was  never  born  to  be  killed  in  battle. 

The  next  year,  1757,  he  was  raised  to  the  rank  of 
major,  and  was  engaged  in  that  disastrous  campaign  in 
which  Fort  William  Henry  was  surrendered  and  the 
garrison  massacred.  He  was  stationed  at  the  time  at 
Fort  Edward,  fifteen  miles  distant,  and  at  his  earnest 
request  was  permitted  a  few  days  previous  to  the  in 
vestment  of  the  fort,  to  reconnoitre  the  French  at 
Ticonderoga,  and  ascertain  their  designs.  Narrowly 
escaping  being  taken  prisoner  by  them,  he  returned 
with  the  news  that  they  were  in  full  march  for  Fort 
William  Henry.  The  next  day  nearly  nine  thou 
sand  French  and  Indians  invested  it.  For  six  days 
Colonel  Munroe  bravely  defended  himself  against  this 
overwhelming  force.  Express  after  express  was  sent 
to  General  Webb  at  Fort  Edward  for  relief,  but  this 
cowardly,  selfish,  miserable  officer,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  distress  of  his  companions.  Once,  when  Sir  Wil 

VOL.  i.  9 


98          MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

liam  Johnson  besought  that  he  might  be  allowed  to 
march  to  the  relief  of  Monroe,  he  gave  his  consent,  if 
volunteers  enough  could  be  found.  At  the  first  beat 
of  the  drum,  Putnam  and  his  brave  rangers  stepped 
forth,  but  scarcely  had  they  formed  their  line  of  march 
before  General  Webb  ordered  them  back  to  their 
posts.  Fort  William  Henry  fell,  and  the  garrison  was 
butchered !  Early  next  morning  Putnam,  who,  with 
his  rangers,  had  been  appointed  to  watch  the  enemy's 
movements,  came  upon  the  scene  of  slaughter.  The 
smoke  of  the  burning  fort  curled  slowly  heavenwards 
upon  the  morning  air — half-consumed  boards  were 
scattered  around,  and  the  mouldering  ruins  overlaid 
each  other  and  the  blackened  corpses  on  every  side. 
Covering  the  open  ground  without,  lay  the  dead,  thick 
as  autumn  leaves,  which  the  wind  had  strewn  over  the 
field.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  awful  stillness  that  had 
settled  like  a  pall  over  the  spot,  save  the  groan  that 
now  and  then  burst  from  some  poor  wretch  in  whom 
the  spark  of  life  still  lingered ;  and  not  a  living  thing 
stood  on  the  plain.  The  flash  of  bayonets  was  seen 
for  a  moment  in  the  distance,  as  the  rear  guard  of  the 
French  disappeared  from  the  shore,  and  then  silence 
and  solitude  fell  on  the  forest.  More  than  a  hundred 
women  lay  scattered  around,  their  arms  flung  out  upon 
the  cold  ground,  and  their  long  tresses  streaming 
around  their  cloven  skulls  and  over  their  gashed  bo 
soms,  rendering  still  more  horrible  the  ghastly  specta 
cle.  Putnam  stood  and  gazed  on  the  scene  with  the 
emotions  a  brave  man  must  always  feel  when  he  thinks 
of  the  distress  he  could  have  prevented,  but  for  the 
cowardice  and  selfishness  of  others. 


A     BRAVE     AND     GENEROUS     ACT.  99 

Soon  after  another  officer  took  command  of  Fort 
Edward,  and  wishing  to  repair  the  defences,  sent  out  a 
large  party  of  men  to  cut  timber,  while  Captain  Little 
was  stationed  near  to  protect  them.  The  laborers, 
however,  were  suddenly  attacked  by  a  party  of  prowl 
ing  Indians,  and  fled  towards  the  fort.  Captain  Little 
bravely  covered  their  retreat,  but  was  himself  so  hard 
pushed  by  the  savages  that  he  was  in  danger  of  being 
cut  off.  The  commanding  officer,  instead  of  render 
ing  him  relief,  called  in  the  outposts  and  shut  the  gates. 
Putnam,  with  his  rangers,  was  stationed  on  an  island 
near  by,  and  the  moment  he  heard  of  Little's  danger, 
ordered  his  men  to  march.  They  plunged  cheer 
fully  into  the  water,  and  waded  rapidly  towards  the 
spot  where  the  incessant  vollies  told  them  that  the  un 
equal  conflict  was  raging.  In  their  progress  they 
passed  near  the  fort,  and  the  commanding  officer  hail 
ing  Putnam,  fiercely  ordered  him  to  stop.  But  the  bold 
ranger  had  been  prevented  once  from  rescuing  his 
companions  from  the  tomahawk,  and  no  power  on 
earth  should  do  it  the  second  time.  Returning  a  brief 
but  stern  answer,  he  passed  on.  In  a  few  moments,  he 
and  his  gallant  followers  were  beside  that  almost  sur 
rounded,  distressed  company,  and  with  a  shout  that 
drowned  the  war-whoop  of  the  savages,  dashed  head 
long  into  the  swamp,  and  swept  it  with  loud  huzzas. 
He  disobeyed  orders,  but  was  never  called  to  account 
for  it — probably  because  the  commanding  officer  feared 
an  investigation  of  his  own  conduct. 


100  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 


CONFLAGRATION    OF    THE    FORT. 

The  next  winter  he  gave  a  still  more  striking  exhi 
bition  of  his  resolute  and  fearless  character.  He  was  at 
his  old  station  on  the  island  whence  he  had  marched  to 
the  relief  of  Captain  Little,  when  the  barracks  of  the 
fort  on  shore  took  fire.  The  magazine  containing 
three  hundred  barrels  of  powder  stood  close  by  them, 
and  to  save  this  the  commanding  officer  directed  the 
cannon  to  play  on  the  former  in  order  to  beat  them 
down.  But  this  measure  did  not  succeed,  and  to 
all  human  appearance  the  magazine  must  soon  take 
fire.  In  this  state  of  affairs,  Putnam,  who  had  heard 
the  heavy  cannonading  and  seen  the  ascending  volumes 
of  smoke,  hurried  across  from  the  island.  Perceiving 
at  a  glance  how  imminent  was  the  peril,  he  sprung 
on  the  roof  of  the  barracks,  and  ordered  a  line  of  sol 
diers  to  be  formed  between  him  and  the  water.  These 
passed  buckets  along  to  him,  which  he  emptied,  one  af 
ter  another  on  the  flames.  So  close  did  he  stand  to 
the  blaze,  that  his  mittens  were  soon  burned  from  his 
hands.  Another  pair  soaked  in  water  was  handed  him 
and  he  kept  his  post.  The  commanding  officer  be 
sought  him  to  come  down  from  his  perilous  position, 
but  he  entreated  so  earnestly  to  be  allowed  to  remain, 
that  the  former  could  not  deny  him,  and  declared  that 
he  and  his  men  would  be  buried  with  him.  And  there 
he  stood  amid  the  smoke  and  flame,  cool,  resolute,  and 
determined,  while  his  skin  shrivelled  on  his  body  in 
the  fierce  heat.  At  length  feeling  the  structure  under 
him  giving  way,  he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  placed 


SVAES     A     MAGAZINE     OF     POWDER.  101 

himself  between  the  fire  and  the  magazine.  The  heat 
was  now  dreadful,  and  Putnam's  form  could  be  seen 
only  at  intervals  as  the  wind  whirled  the  smoke,  and 
ashes,  in  eddies  about  his  head.  The  planks  that 
covered  this  slumbering  volcano  rapidly  turned  into 
cinders,  as  the  flames  flapped  their  wings  about  them, 
till  there  was  nothing  left  between  the  fire  and  the 
powder  but  a  partition  of  timber.  A  single  spark  and 
all  would  have  gone  skyward  together,  but  still  Put 
nam  would  not  stir,  and  kept  pouring  the  water  over 
the  crackling  mass  till  at  length,  after  an  hour  and  a 
half  of  the  most  exhausting  toil,  he  succeeded  in  sub 
duing  the  fire  and  saving  the  magazine.  The  soldiers 
gazed  on  him  in  utter  astonishment  as  he  calmly  stood 
amid  the  enveloping  blaze  and  clouds  of  smoke,  while 
a  magazine  of  three  hundred  barrels  of  powder  was 
slowly  turning  to  cinders  within  five  feet  of  him.  So 
fierce  was  the  heat  to  which  he  had  been  exposed,  that 
when  he  removed  his  water-soaked  mittens  the  skin 
came  off  with  them,  and  so  burnt  and  blistered  was 
his  whole  body,  that  he  was  an  invalid  for  several 
weeks. 

The  next  year  he  was  joined  to  that  ill-conducted, 
ill-fated  expedition  under  Abercromby,  sent  out  for  the 
reduction  of  Ticonderoga.  He  saw  the  British  thou 
sands  move  into  the  volcano  of  fire  that  mowed  down 
whole  ranks  at  a  time,  and  led  his  men  bravely  to  the 
charge,  but  in  vain.  Two  thousand  were  left  dead  on 
the  field,  and  with  a  sad  heart  he  helped  to  cover  the 
shameful  retreat  which  followed. 

9* 


102         MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 


A    FIGHT    BY    MOONLIGHT. 

Some  time  previous  to  the  battle,  however,  he  per 
formed  one  of  those  daring  acts  which  made  him  a 
by- word  in  the  army.     On  the  way  to  Ticonderoga, 
Abercromby  sent  him  forward  with  a  small  detach 
ment  of  men  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy.     Arriving  at 
Wood  Creek,  near  where  it  falls  into  the  lake,  they 
erected  on  a  high  rock  that  jutted  over  the  stream  a 
stone  wall,  about  thirty  feet  long,  concealed  in  front  by 
pine  bushes,  which  were  arranged  so  as  to  present  the 
appearance  of  having  grown  there.     With  his  little 
band  of  thirty-five  men  he  lay  four  days  in  his  place  of 
concealment,  without  seeing  any  traces  of  the  enemy. 
But  just  at  evening  of  the  last  day,  his  sentinels  brought 
in  word  that  a  whole  fleet  of  canoes,  filled  with  soldiers, 
was  entering  the  mouth  of  the  creek.    Putnam  imme 
diately  arranged  his  men,  in  dead  silence,  behind  the 
parapet,  and  waited  their  approach.      The  sun  had 
gone  down,  and  the  shadows  of  night  cre^t  «lowly  over 
the  landscape.     The  next  moment  the  full  round  moon 
rose  over  the  tree-tops,  flooding  the  whole  scene  with 
light.      Every  movement  of  the  dark  canoes  below 
could  be  distinctly  seen,  while  in  the  dead  silence  one 
could  hear  the  low  words  of  command,  and  even  the 
ripple  of  the  water  around  the  prows  of  the  boats. 
Continuing  to  advance,  the  foremost  of  the  fleet  had 
already  passed  the  parapet,  when  one  of  Putnam's  sol 
diers,  in  bringing  his  musket  to  bear  more  directly  on 
the  enemy,  struck  it  against  a  stone.   The  light  click  was 
heard  by  those  below,  and  they  immediately  halted,  and 


A      FIGHT     BY     MOONLIGHT.  103 

began  to  huddle  together,  like  a  flock  of  frightened  fowl, 
till  they  presented  a  black  motionless  mass  at  the  very 
base  of  the  rock  upon  which  Putnam  and  his  men  were 
placed,  while  the  low  "  O-wish"  of  the  Indian  stole  over 
the  water.  A  profound  silence  followed,  as  they  gazed  a 
moment  over  the  parapet,  and  then  the  word  "  Fire  /" 
broke  in  startling  clearness  from  the  lips  of  their  com 
mander.  The  next  moment  those  pine-trees  were 
wreathed  in  flame,  and  those  thirty-five  muskets  sent  a 
perfect  shower  of  balls  into  the  mass  beneath.  Five 
hundred  men  lay  crowded  together  there  on  the  water, 
whose  faces  even  could  be  distinctly  seen  in  the  light  of 
their  answering  vollies.  Five  hundred  against  thirty- 
five  was  heavy  odds,  but  that  little  band  of  rangers  were 
concealed,  while  the  broad  moonlight  fell  over  their 
foes.  It  was  a  glorious  evening,  but  that  quiet  spot  in  the 
deep  wilderness  soon  became  a  scene  of  carnage.  A 
sheet  of  flame  flowed  all  night  long  down  the  face  of  the 
precipice,  and  at  almost  every  shot  a  man  reeled  back  in 
his  seat  dead  or  wounded,  while  the  enemy's  bullets 
clattered  harmlessly  against  the  rocks,  wounding  only 
two  soldiers  in  all.  In  the  morning,  finding  his  ammu 
nition  nearly  exhausted,  and  learning  that  a  detach 
ment  of  the  enemy  had  landed,  and  was  marching  to 
take  him  in  rear,  Putnam  ordered  a  retreat,  leaving 
behind  him  only  the  two  wounded  soldiers,  whom  he 
endeavored  in  vain  to  bring  off. 

Fortune  always  seemed  to  favor  him,  till  no  one 
thought  of  his  being  killed.  The  next  summer  after 
this  expedition  to  Ticonderoga,  while  laying  in  his 
batteaux  on  the  Hudson,  he  was  suddenly  surrounded 
by  a  party  of  Indians.  There  was  no  way  of  escape 


104  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

except  by  shooting  the  rapids  of  Fort  Miller,  at  the 
head  of  which  he  lay.  To  attempt  this  seemed  certain 
death,  yet  he  boldly  seized  the  helm,  and  amid  the 
astonishment  of  his  friends  and  utter  amazement  of  the 
Indians,  as  they  saw  his  boat  whirled  amid  the  foaming 
eddies  and  rocks,  steered  his  frail  craft  safely  through. 

HIS    CAPTURE. 

At  length,  however,  his  good  fortune  deserted  him, 
and  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Indians.  He  with 
two  other  officers  and  five  hundred  men  had  been  sent 
to  watch  the  enemy  at  Ticonderoga,  but  being  dis 
covered,  they  undertook  to  make  good  their  retreat  to 
Fort  Edward.  But  the  second  day  after  they  began 
their  flight,  while  they  were  marching  in  close  columns, 
they  were  suddenly  met  in  a  dense  forest  by  a  multi 
tude  of  French  and  Indians.  Putnam  was  taken  by 
surprise,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  self-possession.  Rally 
ing  his  men,  he  held  them  firmly  to  the  encounter,  him 
self  foremost  in  the  ranks,  and  exposed  to  the  hottest 
of  the  fire.  As  he  thus  stood  fighting  under  the  shad 
ows  of  the  trees,  a  powerful  Indian  rushed  upon  him. 
Putnam  coolly  held  his  musket  to  his  breast  and  pulled 
the  trigger.  The  faithless  thing  missed  fire,  and  he 
was  left  at  the  mercy  of  the  savage.  The  latter 
immediately  bound  him  to  a  tree  and  left  him  there, 
while  he  mingled  again  in  the  fight.  Around  this  tree 
the  whole  force  of  the  battle  gathered,  and  it  stood 
right  in  the  cross  fire  of  the  combatants.  The  bullets 
rattled  like  hail-stones  on  the  trunk,  knocking  the  bark 
in  chips  from  beside  the  prisoner,  and  piercing  his  coat 


EXPOSED     SITUATION.  105 

in  several  places.  In  this  position  he  remained  for  an 
hour,  sometimes  on  the  edge  and  sometimes  in  the  cen 
tre  of  the  vollies,  as  the  parties  swayed  to  and  fro  in 
the  conflict.  When  the  battle  passed  him,  as  the  pro 
vincials  were  driven  back,  leaving  him  less  exposed,  a 
young  Indian,  by  way  of  pastime,  would  throw  his 
tomahawk  at  his  head,  to  see  how  close  he  could  strike 
without  hitting.  The  quivering  of  the  handle  almost  in 
the  victim's  face,  as  the  steel  buried  itself  in  the  tree, 
showed  excellent  practice.  A  Frenchman,  however, 
less  refined  in  his  tastes,  attempted  to  shoot  him  at 
once,  by  putting  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  to  his  breast. 
It  fortunately  missed  fire,  which  threw  the  villain  into 
such  a  rage  that  he  punched  him  with  the  stock,  and  at 
last  struck  him  over  the  head  with  the  breech,  and  left 
him  stunned  and  half  dead. 

The  Americans  were  victorious,  but  the  enemy  bore 
away  their  prisoner.  Taking  off  his  shoes  and  stock 
ings,  and  tying  his  hands  together  in  front,  they  loaded 
him  down  with  all  the  packs  they  could  pile  upon  him. 
Thus  mile  after  mile,  through  thickets,  across  swamps, 
and  up  steep  acclivities,  he  was  compelled  to  travel. 
His  arms  were  swollen,  his  feet  torn  and  bleeding,  and 
his  powerful  frame  so  utterly  exhausted,  that  he  begged 
they  would  either  release  or  kill  him.  At  length  a 
French  officer  compelled  the  Indians  to  take  off  a  part 
of  his  load  and  give  him  moccasins.  To  compensate 
for  this  temporary  relief,  a  savage  soon  after  opened 
his  cheek  with  a  single  blow  of  his  tomahawk.  When 
night  came  on,  the  party  halted,  and  Putnam  more 
dead  than  alive,  stretched  his  aching,  bruised  limbs 
upon  the  ground.  This  temporary  rest,  however,  was 


106  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

soon  broken,  for  the  savages  had  resolved  to  burn  him. 
Stripping  off  his  clothes,  they  bound  him  naked  to  a 
tree,  and  then  piled  up  the  fuel  around  the  roots — he  in 
the  mean  while  watching  all  the  preparations  with  the 
firmness  of  one  who  had  often  looked  death  in  the  face. 
Limbs  of  trees,  and  logs,  and  pieces  of  bark,  were 
heaped  together  around  him,  and  then  a  torch  applied. 
But  scarcely  had  the  blaze  kindled,  before  a  sudden 
shower  extinguished  it.  Again  and  again  did  the  rain 
baffle  their  ferocious  purpose,  but  at  last  the  flame 
caught,  and  crackling  in  its  rapid  progress,  soon  shot 
up  in  spiral  wreaths  around  him.  As  he  writhed  in 
the  fierce  heat,  the  Indians  began  to  dance  and  sing, 
and  fill  the  nightly  forests  with  their  discordant  yells. 
The  convulsed  body  was  scarcely  visible  amid  the 
flame  and  smoke,  and  the  victim's  sufferings  seemed 
•about  to  close  in  death,  when  a  French  officer,  who 
just  then  arrived,  dashed  through  the  throng,  and  scat 
tering  the  firebrands  in  his  path,  released  him  from  his 
torture.  That  dreadful  night  he  slept  with  saplings 
bent  over  his  body,  on  each  end  of  which  lay  his  sav 
age  captors  to  prevent  his  escape. 

At  length  he  reached  Montreal,  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 
Colonel  Schuyler  being  there  at  the  time,  he  succeeded 
in  effecting  his  release  by  exchange,  and  Putnam  re 
turned  home.  But  in  1 759,  having  been  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel,  he  again  joined  the 
English  army  in  their  attempted  invasion  of  Canada. 
Wolfe  died  in  the  arms  of  victory,  on  the  heights  of 
Abraham,  while  Amherst,  in  whose  command  Putnam 
was  placed,  succeeded  in  reducing  Ticonderoga  and 
Crown  Point.  The  next  year  he  performed  several 


IS     WRECKED.  107 

gallant  exploits  on  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  was  an  able 
and  efficient  officer  to  the  close  of  the  war. 

In  1762,  when  war  was  declared  between  England 
and  Spain,  he  accompanied  the  expedition  fitted  out  at 
Portsmouth,  to  operate  against  Havanna.  The  Con 
necticut  regiment  was  put  under  his  command,  and 
with  five  hundred  men  he  embarked  on  board  a  trans 
port.  The  fleet  reached  Cuba  just  in  time  to  take  a 
furious  hurricane  off  the  coast.  At  the  outset  the 
vessel  in  which  he  and  his  five  hundred  men  were 
crowded  was  thrown  on  a  reef.  Here  she  lay  with 
the  sea  constantly  breaking  over  her,  while  not  a  ship 
could  come  to  her  relief.  As  a  last  resource,  the  soldiers 
made  rafts  of  the  spars  and  masts,  and  thus  succeeded 
in  reaching  the  shore.  Putnam,  with  his  usual  prompt 
ness,  immediately  began  to  establish  and  fortify  his 
camp,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency.  The 
storm  raged  for  several  days,  but  the  other  vessels 
rode  it  out  in  safety. 

The  expedition  was  successful,  but  the  troops  melted 
away  beneath  the  climate  with  frightful  rapidity,  so  that 
but  few  American  soldiers  ever  reached  their  homes. 
Putnam,  who  seemed  impervious  to  bullets  and  fire,  and 
water  and  disease,  returned  in  safety  to  mingle  his 
name  in  with  a  still  nobler  struggle.  The  next  year 
he  commanded  a  corps  of  Connecticut  men,  in  an  ex 
pedition  against  the  Indians.  This  ended  his  long 
military  career  of  ten  years,  and  he  returned  to  his 
farm,  a  man  forty-six  years  of  age,  strong  and  sinewy, 
and  with  a  reputation  for  daring  intrepidity  and  en 
durance  beyond  that  of  any  of  his  compeers.  Hanging 
out  his  sign  as  a  country  landlord,  he  made  out  be- 


108          MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

tween  his  tavern  and  farm  to  secure  a  comfortable 
living. 

But  scarcely  had  he  settled  down  to  a  quiet  life  before 
our  controversy  with  England  commenced.  With  all 
his  characteristic  boldness  and  resolution,  he  took  sides 
with  the  colonists,  and  openly  and  fiercely  denounced 
the  aggressive  acts  of  the  British  government.  He 
declared  the  Stamp  Act  to  be  a  piece  of  tyranny  he 
would  not  submit  to  a  moment,  and  was  one  of  the 
committee  appointed  to  confer  with  Governor  Fitch 
about  it.  The  governor  asked  him  what  he  should  do 
if  the  stamped  paper  was  sent  him.  "  Lock  it  up," 
said  Putnam,  "  and  give  us  the  key ;  we  will  take  care 
of  it."  "  But  suppose  I  should  refuse  you  admission  ?" 
added  his  Excellency.  "  In  Jive  minutes  your  house  will 
be  levelledwith  the  dust"  was  the  laconic  and  stern  reply. 

As  events  thickened,  and  men  began  to  think  and 
speak  of  approaching  war,  Putnam,  who  was  quite  fa 
miliar  with  the  British  officers  in  Boston,  was  fre 
quently  asked  his  opinion  as  to  the  probable  result  of 
hostilities.  On  one  occasion  they  enquired  if  he  did 
not  think  five  thousand  veterans  could  march  the  whole 
length  of  the  continent.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  if  they  be 
haved  properly  and  paid  for  what  they  took  ;  but  if 
they  attempted  it  in  a  hostile  manner,  the  American 
women  would  knock  them  on  the  head  with  their  ladles" 
He  knew  full  well  the  spirit  which  animated  the  colo 
nists,  and  that  before  they  could  be  subdued  tyranny 
must  turn  the  land  into  a  desert.  Identifying  himself 
so  openly  with  the  cause  of  freedom,  he  carried  great 
influence  with  him,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  towards 
him  in  case  the  quarrel  came  to  blows.  At  length  the 


HIS     RIDE     TO     BOSTON.  109 

die  was  cast  at  Concord  and  Lexington,  and  untrained 
militia  had  chased  British  regulars  in  affright  before 
them.    Putnam  was  then  quietly  pursuing  his  occupation 
at  home  ;  and  the  next  day  after  the  battle,  a  plain  New 
England  farmer  might  be  seen  in  the  field  with  his  oxen 
and  sled  dragging  stones  together,  mending  his  fence. 
The  warm  April  sun  shone  down  upon  his  weather- 
beaten  face,  and  all  was  calm  and  beautiful  as  spring 
ever  is.     But  suddenly  a  man  was  seen  coming  in  a  fu 
rious  gallop  along  the  road,  beating  hurriedly  a  drum 
as  he  rode — the   call   to   arms  which  thrilled  every 
ear  that  heard  it.     Stopping  to  answer  no  enquiries  he 
spurred  on,  and  reining  up  his  panting  and  foam-cov 
ered   steed   opposite    this   plain-clad   farmer,   hurried 
across  the  field,  and  stood  breathless  with  haste  and 
excitement  before  him.      "  The  streets  of  Lexington 
and  Concord  have  been  soaked  in  blood,  and  the  coun 
try  is  in  a  blaze  /"     Thus  ran  the  fearful  tale.     Put 
nam's  brow  grew  dark  as  wrath  at  the  recital,  and 
leaving  his  oxen  where  they  stood,  he  stayed  not  even 
to   change   his    farmer's  apparel,  or   bid   farewell   to 
his  family,  but  leaping  on  his  swiftest  horse,  was  soon 
seen  tearing  along  the  road  to  Boston.     The  first  blood 
that  was  shed  roused  all  the  lion  within  him,  and  those 
who  saw  that  rough  form  fly  past,  knew  that  wild  work 
would  soon  be  done.    Arriving  at  Cambridge  in  twenty- 
four  hours,  a  distance  of  nearly  a  hundred  miles,  he  im 
mediately  called  a  council  of  war,  and  gave  his  stern  voice 
for  war  to  the  last  extremity.     He  then  hurried  to  the 
Assembly  of  Connecticut,  to  confer  with  it  on  the  best 
mode  of  carrying  on  hostilities,  and  soon  as  his  busi 
ness  was  done,  sped  back  to  the  army  with  the  com- 
VOL.  i.  10 


110  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

mission  of  brigadier-general  in  his  hand.  The  forces 
kept  pouring  in  from  every  quarter — those  from  each 
state  having  an  officer  of  their  own  to  command  them, 
while  the  movements  of  the  whole  were  controlled  by  a 
council  of  war.  Putnam,  from  his  long  experience  in 
military  matters,  and  his  known  bravery  and  firm 
ness  in  battle,  gradually  assumed  the  general  control, 
until  at  length  he  was  practically  commander-in-chief. 

BATTLE    OF    BUNKER    HILL. 

While  this  multitudinous  army  lay  around  Boston, 
without  any  idea  of  discipline  except  to  shoot  straight, 
or  any  definite  aim  beyond  the  mere  determination  to 
fight ;  the  officers  who  commanded  them  looking  on 
things  in  a  clearer  light,  were  divided  as  to  the  best 
course  to  pursue.  Putnam,  with  his  usual  promptness 
and  boldness,  and  Prescott,  were  for  a  battle  if  they 
could  get  the  militia  behind  intrenchments.  They 
thought,  and  justly,  that  an  engagement,  unless  pecu 
liarly  disastrous  to  the  Americans,  would  give  them 
confidence  in  themselves,  and  kindle  a  spirit  of  resist 
ance  throughout  the  land.  The  other  officers  were 
fearful  of  a  defeat,  and  dreaded  the  result  of  one  on  the 
army  and  country.  The  bolder  counsel  of  Putnam 
and  Prescott,  however,  prevailed. 

The  English,  in  the  mean  time,  feeling  the  restraint 
of  their  position,  laid  two  different  plans  to  advance 
into  the  open  country,  but  were  in  both  cases  turned 
back  by  the  precautions  of  the  Americans,  who  were 
constantly  informed  of  their  movements.  At  length, 
abandoning  every  other  project,  General  Gage  directed 
all  his  efforts  to  force  a  passage  by  the  peninsula  and 


BATTLE     OF     BUNKER     HILL.  Ill 

neck  of  Charlestown.  This  peninsula  is  little  over  a 
mile  long,  stretching  from  east  to  west,  washed  on 
the  north  by  the  Mystic  and  on  the  south  by  Charles 
river,  while  a  narrow  channel  separates  it  from  Boston 
on  the  east.  The  spot  where  this  peninsula  joins  the 
main  land  is  only  about  a  hundred  yards  across,  and  is 
called  the  Neck.  From  this  spot  rises  Bunker's  Hill, 
and  a  little  farther  in  towards  Boston,  Breed's  Hill. 
To  prevent  the  egress  of  the  British  by  this  Neck,  the 
plan  of  which  they  had  received  from  friends  in  Boston, 
the  American  officers  resolved  to  fortify  Bunker's  Hill, 
which  completely  commanded  it.  Colonel  Prescott 
was  ordered  to  occupy  this  height  with  a  thousand 
men,  and  intrench  himself  strongly  there.  Having  as 
sembled  on  the  Green  at  Cambridge,  they  leaned  their 
heads  for  a  few  moments  on  their  trusty  firelocks,  while 
the  solemn  prayer  rose  on  the  evening  air  in  their  be 
half,  and  then  took  up  their  line  of  march.  By  some 
mistake,  or  purposely,  they  went  farther  on,  and  occu 
pied  Breed's  Hill.  At  midnight,  those  stern-hearted 
men  stood  on  the  top,  while  Putnam  marked  out  the 
lines  of  the  intrenchments.  By  daylight  they  had  con 
structed  a  redoubt  about  eight  rods  square,  in  which 
they  could  shelter  themselves.  At  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  people  of  Boston  and  the  British  officers 
were  waked  up  by  a  heavy  cannonading  from  an 
English  ship  of  war,  whose  commander  first  perceived 
the  position  which  the  Americans  had  taken  up  during 
the  night.  The  English  officers  could  scarcely  believe 
their  eyes,  when  they  saw  this  redoubt  almost  over 
their  heads.  An  immediate  battle  was  inevitable,  for 
this  height  commanded  Boston,  and  soon  as  batteries 


112  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

could  be  erected  there,  the  city  must  fall.  All  now 
was  bustle  and  confusion,  for  each  one  knew  that  in  a 
few  hours  a  most  deadly  conflict  must  take  place. 
Crowds  began  to  gather  on  the  shore,  and  thousands  of 
eager  eyes  were  turned  with  intense  anxiety,  and 
wonder,  upon  that  low,  dark  redoubt  that  crowned  the 
summit  of  the  hill.  In  two  hours'  time  all  the  artillery 
of  the  city,  and  the  ships  of  war  and  floating  batteries, 
were  pointed  against  that  single  silent  structure.  The 
city  shook  to  the  thunder  of  cannon,  and  that  lonely 
height  fairly  rocked  under  the  bombs  and  balls  that 
tore  up  its  side.  It  absolutely  rained  shots  and  shells 
upon  its  top ;  still  all  was  silent  above  and  about  it ;  yet 
one  near  enough  to  catch  the  sound  could  have  heard 
the  heavy  blows  of  the  spade  and  pickaxe,  and  the  con 
stant  fall  of  earth,  as  those  hardy  men  toiled  as  they 
never  toiled  before.  Heedless  of  the  iron  storm  that 
rattled  around  them,  they  continued  their  work,  and 
by  noon  had  run  a  trench  nearly  down  to  the  Mystic 
river  on  the  north.  The  fire  was  too  hot  to  let  them 
work  in  the  open  field  near  the  bank,  while  Putnam 
saw  at  a  glance  that  this  must  be  closed  up  at  all 
hazards ;  for  the  enemy  marching  swiftly  along  that 
smooth  open  ground,  could  take  him  in  the  flank  and 
rear.  This  unprotected  spot  was  a  meadow,  freshly 
mown,  and  studded  thick  with  haycocks,  all  ready  to  be 
gathered  into  the  barn.  A  single  rail  fence  crossed  it 
from  the  hjll  to  the  river,  of  which  Putnam,  with  that 
quickness  of  invention  he  had  acquired  in  his  long  par 
tisan  warfare,  immediately  took  advantage.  He  or 
dered  the  men  to  take  the  rails  from  another  fence 
near  by,  and  running  them  through  this  one,  pile  the 


APPEARANCE     OF     THE      BRITISH. 

hay  between.  In  a  moment  the  meadow  was -black 
with  men,  some  carrying  rails  on  their  shoulders,  and 
some  with  arms  full  of  hay,  and  all  hurrying  onward. 
In  a  short  time  that  single  fence  looked  like  a  huge  em 
bankment.  This  completed  the  line  of  defence  of  the  ' 
left  wing  and  centre,  which  extended  from  the  Mystic 
river  up  to  the  redoubt.  Behind  the  redoubt  lay  a 
part  of  the  right  wing,  the  rest  being  flanked  by  the 
houses  of  Charlestown  at  the  base  of  the  hill.  Thus 
stretched  over  and  down  the  hill,  like  a  huge  cord,  lay 
the  American  army,  nerved  with  the  desperate  valor 
of  freemen  battling  on  their  native  hills. 

The  tremendous  cannonade,  which  had  been  kept  up 
all  the  forenoon,  having  failed  to  dislodge  the  enemy, 
it  was  resolved  by  the  British  commanders  to  carry 
the  heights  by  assault.     Putnam,  in  the  mean  time,  had 
strained  every  nerve  to  add  to  his  means  of  defence. 
Almost  constantly  on  horseback,  he  was  riding  hither 
and  thither,  superintending  everything,  and  animating 
the  men   by  words  of  encouragement.     During    the 
night,  while  Prescott  was  hurrying  forward  the  works 
on  Breed's  Hill,  he  spurred  furiously  off  to  Cambridge 
after  reinforcements.     The  thunder  of  cannon  at  four 
o'clock  in   the  morning   quickly  brought  him  to  the 
saddle,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  galloping  up  to 
the  redoubt.     Ordering  off  a  detachment,  to  throw  up 
a  work  on  Bunker's  Hill,  which  commanded  the  height 
on  which  the  army  lay,  he  again  flew  to  Cambridge  to 
hurry  up  the  troops.     The  Neck,  over  which  he,  was 
compelled  to  pass,  was  at  this  time  swept  by  the  artil 
lery  of  a  man-of-war  and  floating  batteries.     Through 
this  fire  Putnam  boldly  galloped,  and  to  his  joy  found 

10* 


114  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

that  Stark  and  Reed  were  on  the  way  to  the  scene  of 
action.  Disposing  these  troops  to  the  best  advantage, 
he  coolly  awaited  the  terrible  onset,  which  he  knew 
was  preparing  for  him.  The  day  was  clear  ;  not  a 
cloud  rested  on  the  summer  heavens,  and  the  heat 
ed  earth  seemed  to  pant  under  the  fierce  rays  of 
the  noonday  sun.  As  he  stood  and  gazed  with  a 
stern,  yet  anxious  eye,  a  scene  presented  itself  that 
might  have  moved  the  boldest  heart.  The  British 
army  had  crossed  the  channel,  and  now  stood  in  battle 
array  on  the  shore.  In  the  intervals  of  the  roar  of 
artillery,  which  played  furiously  from  Moreton's  Hill, 
were  heard  the  thrilling  strains  of  martial  music,  and 
the  stirring  blast  of  the  bugle,  while  plumes  danced 
and  standards  waved  in  the  sunlight,  and  nearly  five 
thousand  bayonets  gleamed  and  shook  over  the  dark 
mass  below.  Just  then  a  solitary  horseman,  of  slender 
form,  was  seen  moving  swiftly  over  Bunker's  Hill,  and 
making  straight  for  Putnam.  It  was  General  Warren, 
the  gallant  and  noble-hearted  Warren,  who  had  gazed 
on  that  silent  redoubt  and  his  brave  brethren  there,  till 
he  could  no  longer  restrain  his  feelings  and  had  come 
to  share  their  fate.  Putnam  with  that  generosity  for 
which  he  was  remarkable,  immediately  offered  to  put 
himself  under  his  orders.  "No,"  said  Warren,  "I 
come  as  a  volunteer,  to  show  those  rascals  that  the 
Yankees  can  fight.  Where  shall  I  be  most  needed  ?" 
The  former  pointed  to  the  redoubt  as  the  most  covered 
spot.  "  Tell  me"  said  Warren,  while  his  lips  quivered 
with  the  excitement,  "  where  the  onset  will  be  heaviest" 
"  Go  then,  to  the  redoubt,"  said  Putnam,  "  Prescott  is 
there,  and  will  do  his  duty — if  we  can  hold  that,  the 


ADVANCE      OF     THE      COLUMNS.  115 

day  is  ours."  Away  galloped  Warren,  and  as  he  dashed 
up  to  the  intrenchments,  a  loud  huzza  rent  the  air,  and 
rolled  in  joyful  accents  along  the  lines. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  grandeur  and  excitement  of 
the  scene  at  this  moment.  Strung  over  that  hill  and  out 
of  sight  lay  fifteen  hundred  sons  of  Liberty,  coolly  await 
ing  the  onset  of  the  veteran  thousands  of  England,  and 
sternly  resolved  to  prove  worthy  of  the  high  destinies  in 
trusted  to  their  care.  The  roofs  of  the  houses  of  Boston, 
the  shores,  and  every  church  steeple  were  black  with 
spectators,  looking  now  on  the  forming  columns  upon  the 
shore,  and  now  at  the  silent  intrenchments  that  spanned 
the  heights.  Many  of  them  had  sons,  and  brothers,  and 
husbands,  and  lovers  on  the  hill,  and  the  hearts  of  all 
swelled  high  or  sunk  low,  with  alternate  hope  and  fear, 
as  they  thought  of  the  strength  and  terror  of  the  com 
ing  shock.  Oh,  how  the  earnest  prayer  went  up  to 
heaven,  and  with  what  intense  love  and  longing  each 
heart  turned  to  that  silent  redoubt.  At  length  the 
English  began  to  advance  in  two  dense  columns.  Put 
nam  then  rode  along  the  lines,  kindling  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  men  already  roused  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  or 
dered  them  to  hold  their  fire  till  the  enemy  was  within 
eight  rods,  and  then  aim  at  their  waistbands.  On  came 
the  steady  battalions,  ever  and  anon  halting  to  let  the  ar 
tillery  play  on  the  intrenchments,  and  then  advancing  in 
the  most  perfect  order  and  beautiful  array.  To  the  spec 
tator,  that  artillery  appeared  like  moving  spots  of  flame 
and  smoke  ascending  the  slope,  but  not  a  sound  broke 
the  ominous  and  death-like  silence  that  reigned  around 
the  heights.  But  for  the  flags  that  drooped  in  the  hot 
summer  air  over  the  redoubt,  you  would  have  deemed  it 


116  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

deserted.  But  flashing  eyes  were  there  bent  in  wrath  on 
the  enemy  as  slowly  and  steadily  they  ascended  the  hill, 
and  closed  sternly  in  for  the  death-struggle.  They  were 
noble  troops — and  as  in  perfect  order,  with  their  gay 
standards  and  polished  bayonets  floating  and  flashing  in 
the  sun,  they  advanced  nearer  and  nearer,  their  appear 
ance  was  imposing  in  the  extreme.  Stopping  every 
few  yards;  they  delivered  their  deep  and  regular  vol- 
lies  on  the  embankments,  but  nofa  shot  replied.  That 
silence  was  more  awful  than  the  thunder  of  cannon, 
for  it  told  of  carnage  and  death  slumbering  there.  At 
length,  when  the  hostile  columns  were  almost  against 
the  intrenchments,  the  signal  was  given,  and  the  stern 
order  "  FIRE"  rung  with  startling  clearness  on  the  air. 
A  sheet  of  flame  replied,  running  like  a  flash  of  light 
along  that  low  dark  wall,  and  the  front  rank  of  the  foe 
went  down,  as  if  suddenly  engulphed  in  the  earth.  But 
those  behind,  treading  over  their  dead  companions, 
pressed  steadily  forward,  yet  the  same  tempest  of  fire 
smote  their  bosoms,  and  they  sunk  amid  their  fallen 
comrades.  Still  the  steady  battalions  nobly  struggled 
to  bear  up  against  the  deadly  sleet,  but  all  in  vain  ; 
rank  after  rank  went  down,  like  the  sand-bank  as  it 
caves  over  the  stream,  and  at  length,  furious  with  rage 
and  despair,  the  whole  army  broke  and  fled  for  the 
shore.  Then  went  up  a  long  and  loud  huzza  from  that 
little  redoubt,  which  was  echoed  the  whole  length  of 
the  lines,  and  answered  by  thousands  of  voices  from 
the  roofs,  and  steeples,  and  heights  of  Boston. 

The  discomfited  troops  never  halted  till  they  reached 
the  shore,  where  their  commanders  attempted  to  rally 
them.  While  they  were  seen  riding  to  and  fro  amid 


SECOND     ASSAULT.  117 

the  broken  ranks,  Putnam  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
galloped  off,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  after  reinforcements. 
But  the  Neck  over  which  they  must  pass  was  now  swept 
by  such  a  galling  fire  that  they  refused  to  stir.  Car 
ried  away  by  his  intense  anxiety,  he  rode  backwards 
and  forwards  several  times,  to  show  there  was  no  dan 
ger,  while  the  balls  ploughed  up  the  earth  in  furrows 
around  him  :  but  few,  however,  could  be  induced  to 
follow,  and  he  hastened  back  to  the  scene  of  action. 

The  spectacle  the  hill  now  presented  was  terrific 
beyond  description.  That  redoubt  was  silent  again, 
while  the  dead  and  dying  lay  in  ghastly  rows  near  its 
base.  The  imposing  columns  were  again  on  the  march, 
while  Charlestown,  which  in  the  interval  had  been  set 
on  fire  by  the  enemy,  presented  a  new  feature  in  the 
appalling  scene.  The  roar  and  crackling  of  the  flames 
were  distinctly  heard  in  the  American  lines,  and  the 
smoke  in  immense  volumes'  rolled  fast  and  furious 
heavenward,  blotting  out  the  sun  and  shedding  a 
strange  and  lurid  light  on  the  dead-covered  field.  The 
British  commander  fondly  hoped  that  the  smoke  would 
involve  the  heights,  confusing  the  deadly  aim  of  the 
Americans,  and  covering  the  assault ;  but  the  blessed 
breeze  changing,  inclined  it  gently  seaward,  leaving 
the  battle-field  unobscured  and  open  as  ever.  Again 
the  drums  beat  their  hurried  charge,  and  the  columns 
pressed  gallantly  forward.  Advancing  more  rapidly 
than  before,  they  halted  only  to  pour  in  their  heavy 
vollies,  and  then  hurrying  on  over  their  dead  and 
wounded  companions,  who  had  fallen  in  the  first  as 
sault,  seemed  about  to  sweep  in  a  resistless  flood  over 
the  intrenchments.  On,  on  they  came,  shaking  the 


118  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

heights  with  their  heavy  muffled  tread,  till  they  stood 
breast  to  breast  with  that  silent  redoubt,  when  sudden 
ly  it  again  gaped  and  shot  forth  flame  like  some  huge 
monster.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  atmosphere 
was  an  element  of  fire.  It  was  a  perfect  hurricane  of 
fire  and  lead,  and  the  firm-set  ranks  disappeared  like 
mist  in  its  path.  The  living  still  strove  manfully  to 
stem  the  fight,  and  the  reeling  ranks  bore  up  for  a 
while  amid  the  carnage,  led  by  as  brave  officers  as  ever 
cheered  men  on  to  death.  But  that  fiery  sleet  kept 
driving  full  in  their  faces,  smiting  them  down  rank 
after  rank,  with  such  fearful  rapidity,  that  the  bravest 
gave  way.  The  lines  bent  backwards,  then  sprung  to 
their  places  again,  again  rolled  back  ;  till  at  last,  riddled 
through  and  through  by  that  astonishing  fire,  the  whole 
mass  gave  way  like  a  loosened  cliff,  and  broke  furiously 
down  the  hill.  Again  the  triumphant  "  huzzas"  rocked 
the  heights,  and  the  slopes  of  that  hill  turned  red  with 
flowing  blood. 

A  sudden  silence  followed  this  strange  uproar,  bro 
ken  only  by  the  smothered  groans  and  cries  of  the 
wounded,  lying  almost  within  reach  of  the  redoubt. 
On  that  fatal  shore  the  English  commanders  rallied  for 
the  third  and  last  time  their  disordered  troops,  while 
the  Americans,  burning  with  indignation  and  disap 
pointment,  drove  home  their  last  cartridges. 

The  scene,  the  hour,  the  immense  results  at  stake,  all 
combined  now  to  fill  the  bosom  of  every  spectator  with 
emotions  of  the  deepest  sadness,  anxiety,  and  fear.  The 
smoke  of  battle  hung  in  light  wreaths  around  that  dark 
redoubt,  while  near  by,  Charlestown  was  one  mass  of 
billowy  flame  and  smoke.  The  slope  in  front  of  the 


LAST     ASSAULT.  119 

breastwork  was  spotted  with  the  slain,  and  ever  and 
anon  came  the  booming  of  cannon  as  they  still  thundered 
on  the  American  intrenchments.  The  sun  now  stoop 
ing  to  the  western  horizon,  bathed  that  hill-top  in  its  gen 
tle  light,  and  the  mild  summer  evening  was  hastening 
on.  The  hills  looked  green  and  beautiful  in  the  distance 
— all  nature  was  at  rest,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that 
such  carnage  had  wasted  there  a  moment  before. 

But  another  sight  soon  arrested  every  eye  :  the  re 
formed  ranks  of  the  enemy  were  again  in  motion. 
Throwing  aside  their  knapsacks  to  lighten  their  bur 
dens,  and  reserving  their  fire,  the  soldiers,  with  fixed 
bayonets,  marched  swiftly  and  steadily  over  the  slope,  and 
up  to  the  very  intrenchments.  Only  one  volley  smote 
them,  for  the  Americans,  alas,  had  fired  their  last  car 
tridges,  and  worse  than  all  were  without  bayonets !  Club 
bing  their  muskets,  however,  they  still  beat  back  the  en 
emy,  when  the  reluctant  order  to  retreat  was  given.  The 
gallant  fellows  behind  the  hay  and  fence  below  still  main 
tained  their  ground,  and  thus  saved  the  rest  of  the  army. 
Putnam,  riding  amid  the  men,  and  waving  his  sword 
over  his  head,  endeavored  to  make  them  rally  again  on 
Bunker's  Hill.  Finding  all  his  efforts  vain,  he  burst  forth 
into  a  torrent  of  indignation.  His  stout  heart  could  not 
endure  that  the  day,  so  nobly  battled  for,  should  be  lost 
at  last.  He  rode  between  them  and  the  enemy,  before 
which  they  fled,  and  there  stood  in  the  hottest  of  the  fire. 
But  neither  words  nor  example  could  stay  their  flight. 
Without  ammunition  or  bayonets,  or  breastwork,  it 
was  a  hopeless  task.  Warren  too,  interposed  his  slen 
der  form  between  his  own  troops  and  those  of  the 
British.  Moving  slowly  down  the  western  declivity 


120  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

of  the  hill,  he  planted  himself  all  alone,  before  the 
ranks,  and  pointing  to  the  mottoes  on  their  standards, 
strove,  by  his  stirring  eloquence,  to  rouse  them  to 
another  effort.  Carried  away  by  a  lofty  enthusiasm, 
he  reminded  them  that  Heaven  watched  over  their 
cause,  and  would  sustain  their  efforts.  While  he  thus 
calmly  stood,  and  bent  his  flashing  eye  on  the  advan 
cing  battalions,  an  English  officer,  who  knew  him, 
snatched  a  musket  from  a  soldier,  and  shot  him  dead 
in  his  footsteps. 

Although  the  Americans  were  compelled  to  retreat 
across  the  Neck,  which  was  swept  by  cann'on,  they 
suffered  comparatively  little,  and  finally  took  up  their 
position  on  Winter  and  Prospect  Hills,  and  night,  soon 
after  shut  in  the  scene.  It  had  been  a  fearful  day — 
nearly  two  thousand  men  lay  fallen  across  each  other 
on  that  height,  fifteen  hundred  of  whom  were  British 
soldiers.  The  battle-field  remained  in  the  hands  of  the 
English,  but  the  victory  was  ours.  The  news  spread 
like  wild-fire  over  the  land,  and  one  long  shout  went 
up,  the  first  shout  of  liberty  ;  which  the  human  soul 
heard  and  answered,  and  shall  answer  the  world  over.* 

*  An  incident  occurred  in  this  battle  which  illustrates  forcibly  the 
horrors  of  civil  war.  As  the  British  troops  were  passing  through 
Charlestown  to  attack  the  Americans,  a  soldier  entered  a  house  where 
a  man  lay  sick.  The  young  and  beautiful  wife  on  leaving  the  cham 
ber  met  the  soldier,  who  immediately  addressed  insulting  proposals  to 
her.  Finding  himself  sternly  repulsed  he  resorted  to  violence,  when 
her  screams  aroused  her  invalid  husband.  Rising  from  his  sick  bed, 
and  seizing  his  sword,  he  staggered  into  the  room,  when  seeing  his 
struggling  wife  in  the  arms  of  a  soldier  he  ran  him  through  the  body. 
The  miserable  wretch  fell  backward,  and  looking  up  at  his  destroyer, 
cried  out.  "  My  brother !"  At  the  same  moment  he  also  was  recog 
nized,  and  with  the  exclamation,  "  I  have  murdered  my  brother,"  the 


DEATH     OF     WARREN.  121 

Boston  wept  over  the  fall  of  Warren,  for  a  strong 
ally  and  a  noble  man  had  been  lost  to  the  cause  of 
freedom.  Generous,  high-minded,  of  unswerving  in 
tegrity,  eloquent,  wise,  and  patriotic,  no  costlier  sacri 
fice  could  have  been  offered  on  the  common  altar. 
His  wife  had  gone  to  the  grave  before  him,  and  now 
the  orphaned  children  were  left  to  the  care  of  their 
country.  Few  more  gifted,  more  beloved,  could  be 
found  in  the  American  army.  He  fell  on  the  threshold 
of  that  great  struggle  to  which,  had  he  possessed  them, 
he  would  have  given  a  thousand  lives.  He  fell,  but 
his  memory  remains  green  in  the  hearts  of  his  country 
men,  and  his  name  is  immortal  as  our  history.  It  goes 
down  the  stream  of  time  linked  in  with  that  of 
Putnam,  Prescott,  Knowlton,  Stark,  and  Pomeroy, 
and  others,  who  this  day  covered  themselves  with 
glory.  Washington  was  on  his.way  to  the  army  when 
the  news  of  the  battle  reached  him.  Hastening  to  Cam 
bridge,  he  took  the  chief  command,  and  Putnam  became 
one  of  his  major-generals.  He  had  been  offered  a  few 
days  previous,  the  same  rank  in  the  British  army,  but  he 
had  received  and  answered  the  proposal  as  an  insult. 

He  continued  with  the  army  around  Boston  till  next 
spring,  when  he  was  sent  to  New  York  to  command 
that  station.  Here  he  busied  himself  in  erecting  works 
and  in  attempts  to  destroy  the  enemy's  shipping,  till 
Washington  himself  came  on  with  the  army  to  resist 
the  landing  of  General  Clinton.  He  was  in  command 

outraged  husband  fell  dead  ou  the  corpse  before  him.  These  unfor 
tunate  brothers  were  Scotchmen,  one  of  whom  had  emigrated  to  this 
country,  while  the  other  had  entered  the  English  army.  After  long  years 
of  separation  they  thus  met  to  die — the  slayer  and  the  slain — together. 
VOL.  I.  11 


122  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

in  Long  Island,  when  five  thousand  Americans  engaged 
more  than  double  that  number  of  the  British.  It  was, 
as  has  been  before  stated,  a  bad- fought  battle  all  round, 
on  our  side,  and,  but  for  the  energy  and  consummate 
skill  of  Washington,  would  have  ended  in  our  complete 
overthrow.  An  unlooked-for  misfortune  added  to 
the  fault ;  for  General  Greene,  who  had  had  the  whole 
charge  of  the  arrangements,  was  prevented  by  sickness 
from  taking  the  command,  and  it  devolved  on  Putnam, 
who  was  ignorant  of  the  localities.  Our  army  was 
therefore  easily  outflanked  and  most  shamefully  beaten. 

In  the  retreat  the  troops  were  divided  into  three 
parts;  one  was  stationed  at  Kingsbridge,  one  under 
Putnam  in  this  city,  and  the  third  half  way  between,  so 
as  to  co-operate  with  either.  But  at  length  it  became  ne 
cessary  to  evacuate  the  city ;  for  several  British  ships  had 
gone  up  the  Hudson  as  far  as  Bloomingdale,  and  Clinton 
had  succeeded  in  landing  five  thousand  men  at  Kipp's 
Bay,  on  the  East  river,  so  that  all  communication  be 
tween  New  York  and  Harlaem  would  soon  be  cut  off. 
The  other  two  portions  of  the  army  hastened  to  Har 
laem  heights,  while  Putnam  was  left  to  extricate  himself 
as  he  best  could.  The  British  troops  already  held  the 
principal  road  to  Kingsbridge,  and  were  rapidly  stretch 
ing  across  to  the  Hudson. 

In  this  dilemma  Putnam  put  forth  one  of  those  pro 
digious  efforts  for  which  he  was  remarkable  in  an  ex 
tremity.  The  only  route  left  open  to  him  was  that  by 
Bloomingdale,  along  the  Hudson,  and  he  immediately 
availed  himself  of  it.  Every  minute  was  priceless,  and 
he  pushed  his  men  forward  with  the  greatest  impetu 
osity.  Although  they  were  marching  at  double  quick 


A      CHARACTERISTIC      INCIDENT.  123 

time,  he  could  not  restrain  his  desire  to  advance  with 
still  greater  velocity.  Riding  backwards  and  forwards 
along  the  lines,  he  kept  every  movement  under  his  eye, 
and  watched  with  a  vigilance  that  nothing  could  elude 
every  incipient  error.  His  horse  was  covered  with 
foam,  and  as  he  galloped  along  the  ranks,  he  seemed  to 
be  the  moving  spring  of  the  whole  column.  The 
enemy's  guns  were  already  heard  on  his  right,  and  a 
colonel  was  shot.  The  main  army  had  given  him  up 
as  lost,  but  after  dark  he  came  marching  up  the  heights 
of  Harlaem,  to  the  infinite  joy  of  Washington.  He  had 
barely  slipped  through,  for  the  enemy's  lines  shut  in 
from  river  to  river  the  moment  he  passed. 

He  accompanied  Washington  in  his  retreat  through 
New  Jersey,  till  they  arrived  on  the  shores  of  the  Del 
aware,  and  then  the  latter  sent  him  to  Philadelphia  to 
defend  the  city.  Here  he  remained  constructing  forti 
fications  and  putting  every  thing  in  a  state  of  defence, 
while  the  victories  of  Trenton  and  Princeton  shed  lus 
tre  on  our  arms,  and  the  light  of  hope  on  our  cause. 
Soon  after  he  was  ordered  to  take  post  at  Princeton 
for  the  winter,  where  he  lay  with  a  mere  handful  of 
men,  only  fifteen  miles  from  the  enemy.  While  at  this 
station,  there  occurred  one  of  those  little  incidents  so 
illustrative  of  his  character.  A  Captain  M'Pherson, 
who  wras  severely  wounded  in  the  battle  of  Princeton, 
had  been  left  behind  to  die.  Putnam  immediately  had 
all  his  wants  provided  for,  and  treated  him  in  every 
way  like  a  friend.  Taking  advantage  of  his  generosity^ 
the  wounded  captain  requested  him  to  send  to  the 
English  army  for  a  friend  to  draw  up  his  will,  as  he 
expected  in  a  few  days  to  die.  Putnam  wished  to 


124          MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

grant  his  request,  but  he  was  unwilling  that  an  English 
officer  should  see  howT  feeble  and  destitute  he  was  both 
in  men  and  the  munitions  of  war.  Yielding  at  last, 
however,  to  the  impulses  of  his  generous  heart,  he  dis 
patched  a  flag  of  truce,  with  orders  that  the  English 
man  should  be  brought  in  after  dark.  In  the  mean 
time,  he  kindled  up  lights  in  the  college  hall  and  pri 
vate  dwellings,  and  kept  his  fifty  men — the  whole  ef 
fective  force  in  the  place — marching  and  counter 
marching  with  such  a  flourish  of  music  and  profusion 
of  orders,  that  the  captain's  friend,  on  his  return  to 
head  quarters,  reported  that  Putnam  had  at  least  five 
thousand  men  under  his  command. 

The  next  year,  1777,  he  was  placed  over  the  portion 
of  the  army  stationed  in  the  Highlands.  While  here,  a 
Tory  spy,  a  lieutenant  in  a  Tory  regiment,  was  caught 
in  camp,  and  sentenced  to  be  executed.  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  sent  a  flag  of  truce  to  Putnam,  claiming  him  as 
a  British  officer.  The  latter  immediately  despatched 
the  following  short  and  pithy  reply. 

"Head-quarters,  1th  Aug.,  1777. 

"  Edmund  Palmer,  an  officer  in  the  enemy's  service, 
was  taken  as  a  spy,  lurking  within  our  lines ;  he  has 
been  tried  as  a  spy,  condemned  as  a  spy,  and  shall  be 
executed  as  a  spy,  and  the  flag  is  ordered  to  depart  im 
mediately.  ISRAEL  PUTNAM." 

"  P.  S.  He  has  been  accordingly  executed." 

In  the  fall  of  this  year,  he  made  preparations  to  at 
tack  New  York.  But  Washington  having  sent  to  him 
for  twenty-five  hundred  men,  his  army  became  so  re- 


COMMANDS      IN      THE      HIGHLANDS.  125 

duced  that  he  was  compelled  to  abandon  the  design. 
In  the  meantime,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  despatched  three 
thousand  men  up  the  Hudson  to  take  possession  of  Forts 
Clinton  and  Montgomery.  General  Clinton  com 
manded  the  garrison  of  the  latter,  and  immediately 
sent  to  Putnam  for  reinforcements.  But  he  either 
through  treachery  of  the  messenger  or  some  other 
cause,  never  received  the  message,  and  hence  the  rein 
forcements  were  not  sent,  and  the  forts  fell.  This  dis 
aster  compelled  him  to  evacuate  Forts  Independence 
and  Constitution,  and  retreat  from  Peekskill  to  Fishkill. 
Soon  after,  however,  receiving  reinforcements,  he  re 
took  Peekskill,  and  was  closely  watching  the  move 
ments  of  the  enemy  up  the  river,  when  the  news  of  the 
surrender  of  Burgoyne  reached  him.  Five  thousand 
men  from  Gates's  army  were  immediately  added  to  his 
own,  swelling  the  force  under  his  command  to  eleven 
thousand.  Washington  hearing  of  it,  despatched  Col. 
Hamilton  with  orders  to  have  this  corps  of  five  thousand 
forwarded  to  Philadelphia.  Putnam  refused,  under  the 
pretence  that  the  orders  were  not  sufficiently  explicit, 
and  declared  that  he  could  not  think  of  occupying 
his  post,  and  at  the  same  time  send  away  his  troops. 
Washington  knew  that  this  excuse  was  not  the  real 
one,  and  reprimanded  him  for  his  disobedience  of  or 
ders.  The  truth  is,  Putnam  had  been  unable  to  effect 
anything  during  the  campaign,  and  he  determined,  if  he 
could  help  it,  not  to  let  the  reinforcements  leave  him 
until  he  had  struck  a  heavy  blow  on  the  enemy.  This 
was  doubtless  his  long  projected  descent  on  New  York. 
After  this,  he  descended  the  Hudson,  and  establishing 
himself  at  New  Rochelle,  continued  to  annoy  the  ene- 

11* 


126  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

my,  till  ordered  back,  in  the  middle  of  December,  to 
the  Highlands,  to  take  up  his  winter  quarters.  This 
was  the  winter  in  which  Washington  and  his  destitute 
army  lay  in  their  gloomy  cantonments  at  Valley  Forge. 
The  troops  under  Putnam  also  suffered  severely,  and 
he  wrote  to  the  commander-in-chief,  saying,  "  Dubois' 
regiment  is  unfit  to  be  ordered  on  duty,  there  not  being 
one  blanket  in  the  regiment.  Very  few  have  either 
shoes  or  a  shirt." 

In  the  spring,  he  was  superseded  in  his  command  by 
General  McDougall.  The  reason  Washington  gave  for 
this  change  was  the  unpopularity  of  the  former  with 
the  inhabitants.  Without  entering  into  the  causes  of  the 
strong  prejudices  that  existed,  he  deemed  it  expedient 
to  remove  him  to  another  field  of  operations. 

After  looking  over  the  whole  ground,  it  is  very  evi 
dent  that  Putnam's  unpopularity  grew  out  of  his  want 
of  success,  and  was  wholly  undeserved.  Washington 
doubtless  regarded  it  in  this  light,  for  he  immediately 
ordered  him  to  Connecticut,  to  hasten  on  the  new  levies 
previous  to  his  joining  the  army.  He  arrived  at  head 
quarters  soon  after  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  and  took 
command  of  the  right  wing.  The  next  winter  he  was 
placed  over  three  brigades  at  Danbury,  Connecticut. 
By  his  boldness,  promptness,  and  rough  eloquence,  he 
here  quelled  a  serious  mutiny  among  the  troops. 

It  was  during  this  winter  he  performed  that  break 
neck  ride  down  a  precipice  which  is  familiar  to  every 
schoolboy.  Being  one  day  at  West  Greenwich,  where 
were  some  of  his  outposts,  he  was  told  that  Governor 
Try  on,  with  fifteen  hundred  men,  was  advancing  on  the 
place.  Immediately  assembling  his  whole  force,  a  hun- 


STRUCK     WITH     PARALYSIS.  127 

dred  and  fifty  soldiers,  he  planted  himself  with  two 
cannon,  on  a  steep  hill  by  the  meeting  house.  Here  he 
opened  a  furious  fire  from  his  two  guns  on  the  enemy, 
when,  finding  the  dragoons  about  to  charge,  he  ordered 
his  men  into  a  swamp,  while  he  waited  till  the  troop 
was  close  on  him,  and  then  spurred  straight  down  the 
face  of  the  precipice.  The  dragoons,  who  thought 
their  prey  secure,  reined  up  on  the  edge  of  the  steep ; 
and  saw  with  surprise  Putnam  reach  the  bottom  safe 
and  sound,  and  gallop  away.  Hurrying  on  to  Stamford, 
where  he  found  some  militia,  he  faced  about  and  chased 
Tryon  back,  taking  about  fifty  prisoners. 

The  next  year,  1779,  he  was  stationed  over  the  Mary 
land  line,  near  West  Point,  where  nothing  of  importance 
occurred.  When  the  army  retired  to  winter  quarters, 
at  Morristown,  he  returned  to  his  family  in  Connecticut. 
In  the  spring  he  started  again  for  head-quarters,  but 
before  he  reached  Hartford,  he  was  prostrated  by  a 
stroke  of  paralysis,  which  finished  his  military  career. 
He  would  not  at  first  yield  to  this  terrible  blow,  and 
Boused  himself  to  violent  exertion  in  order  to  shake  off 
h.  disease.  But  his  efforts  were  all  in  vain ;  his  strong 
heart  was  compelled  to  bow,  and  with  feelings  of  the 
bitterest  disappointment  he  found  himself  laid  aside 
forever.  The  struggle  into  which  he  had  cast  soul  and 
body  he  was  forced  to  abandon,  while  the  shouts  of 
victory  that  were  ever  and  anon  borne  to  his  ear  were 
heard  with  mingled  joy  and  sadness — joy  that  his  coun 
try  triumphed — sorrow  that  his  arm  could  never  strike 
another  blow  for  her  welfare.  Years  of  glory  to  our 
brave  officers  rolled  by,  and  left  him  an  invalid  and  a 
crippled  man.  He  lived  to  hear  the  shout  of  a  ran- 


128          MAJOR  GENERAL  PUTNAM. 

somed  people,  and  enjoy  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  the 
blessings  of  peace  and  of  liberty. 

CHARACTER    OF    PUTNAM. 

Putnam  was  a  brave  and  efficient  commander,  pos 
sessing  great  and  striking  military  qualities.  In  person 
he  was  stout,  and  his  rough,  weather-beaten  face,  indi 
cated  the  exposed  and  boisterous  life  he  had  led.  His 
courage  was  proverbial  in  the  army,  and  his  fortitude 
was  equal  to  his  courage.  Headlong  as  an  avalanche 
in  his  charge,  he  was  nevertheless  patient  under  re 
straint.  His  bravery  was  of  that  extravagant  kind- 
like  Murat's — which  never  allowed  one  to  count  the 
enemy  or  see  obstacles  in  his  path.  He  would  go  any 
where,  dare  any  danger,  if  he  could  only  get  his  men 
to  follow  him.  At  the  same  time  he  was  perfectly 
cool  and  self-possessed  in  the  fight,  and  would  stand  all 
alone  amid  the  raining  balls  as  calmly  as  if  he  were 
impervious  to  death.  Whether  facing  down  an  angry 
wolf,  already  gathering  for  the  spring,  or  standing 
wrapped  in  flame  and  smoke  before  a  magazine  of 
powder,  or  hurrying  his  men  with  shouts  to  the  onset, 
or  sending  up  the  first  strong,  great  war-cry  from  the 
top  of  Bunker  Hill,  he  is  the  same  fearless  and  resolute 
man.  Overcome  by  no  hardships,  repelled  by  no  dif 
ficulties,  and  daunted  by  no  danger,  he  moves  through 
his  eventful  career  like  one  who  bears  a  charmed  life. 
Living  in  an  adventurous  period,  his  history  seems 
stranger  than  any  fiction.  Exposed  to  every  variety 
of  peril,  and  subjected  to  all  forms  of  trial,  his  iron 
frame  held  out  to  threescore  years,  and  his  stout  will 


HIS      CHARACTER.  129 

even  after  that.  Loving  the  excitement  of  battle,  and 
at  home  amid  the  rattle  of  musketry,  he  gallantly 
fought  his  way  up  from  captain  of  a  militia  company 
to  major-general  of  the  army  of  the  United  States.  As 
a  commander,  his  great  excellence  lay  in  the  daring  of 
his  plans  and  the  vigor  with  which  he  pushed  them. 
His  tenacity  of  purpose  was  almost  unconquerable  ; 
he  would  not  be  beaten,  and  struggled  with  such 
fierceness  on  the  very  threshold  of  defeat,  that  he 
would  often  turn  it  into  a  victory.  He  carried  great 
moral  power  with  him,  for  men  were  afraid  of  one 
who  was  afraid  of  nothing.  They  knew  when  he  re 
solved  on  a  thing,  if  human  daring  and  human  energy 
could  accomplish  it,  it  would  be  done.  He  lacked, 
however,  combination,  and  was  not  fit  to  conduct  a 
campaign  designed  to  cover  a  large  territory,  and  em 
brace  the  movements  of  different  bodies  of  men.  He 
required  to  have  every  thing  he  was  to  do  directly  under 
his  eye.  Hence  he  would  have  made  a  very  ineffi 
cient  commander-in-chief,  and  was  not  even  a  good  ma 
jor-general.  This  was  doubtless  owing  very  much  to 
his  early  life.  His  whole  military  education  fitted  him 
only  for  specific  warfare,  and  as  a  partisan  officer  he 
had  no  superior.  He  had  learned  to  concentrate  his 
energies  on  a  single  point,  and  usually  having  but 
few  men  under  his  control,  he  could  hurl  them  in  any 
direction  with  a  suddenness  and  energy  that  suited 
well  his  own  impetuous  nature.  But  a  large  army 
puzzled  him — it  was  not  flexible  enough  in  his  hand, 
and  he  could  not  wield  it  with  that  ease  and  rapidity 
he  wished.  What  would  have  been  the  result  had  his 
early  training  been  different,  it  is  impossible  to  tell. 


130  MAJOR     GENERAL     PUTNAM. 

Still,  with  all  his  deficiencies,  he  was  a  strong  man 
in  battle.  His  fiery  courage,  headlong  impetuosity, 
and  stubborn  tenacity,  made  him  a  dangerous  foe. 
His  excitement  in  a  hot  engagement  was  frightful. 
It  completely  mastered  him  for  the  time,  and  he 
seemed  possessed  of  a  fury.  Hence,  when  his  men 
failed  him,  an  explosion  always  followed,  and  the  wrath 
he  had  concentrated  for  the  enemy  burst  on  them. 
Cowardice  roused  his  indignation  beyond  control,  and 
he  sometimes  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  invective  on  his 
flying  troops. 

In  this  respect  he  resembled  Lannes  more  than  any 
other  great  military  leader.  He  had  all  his  impetuosi 
ty,  chivalric  daring,  and  tenacity  of  purpose.  Let  Put 
nam  have  been  placed  over  a  column  of  sixteen  or 
twenty  thousand  veteran  troops,  and  told  to  pierce  the 
centre  of  the  enemy,  and  he  would  have  made  one  of 
those  awful  exhibitions  so  common  in  Bonaparte's  great 
pitched  battles. 

Putnam  was  an  industrious  officer,  and  the  moment  he 
was  placed  over  any  station,  set  about  defending  it  in 
every  way  that  human  energy  and  ingenuity  could  de 
vise.  He  had  also  that  rare  quality  of  character  which 
never  yields  to  discouragement.  He  never  allowed  him 
self  to  despond,  and  could  not  be  driven  to  despair, 
even  by  slow  torture.  An  iron  man,  he  nevertheless  had 
as  kind  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  a  human  bosom.  His 
reckless  and  adventurous  life  never  hardened  his  feel 
ings  or  produced  that  rigidity  of  character  which  seems 
at  first  thought  unavoidable.  He  was  generous  to 
a  fault,  frank  and  confiding,  and  of  unswerving  integ 
rity.  With  all  his  impulsiveness  his  nature  was  sincere 


HIS     DEATH.  131 

and  firm.  Beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  faithful  to 
every  trust  committed  to  his  charge,  a  devoted  patriot, 
and  a  brave  and  noble  man,  he  helped  to  fill  up  the 
measure  of  his  country's  glory,  and  received  the  bless 
ings  of  a  grateful  people. 

He  lived  seven  years  after  the  declaration  of  peace, 
an  invalid  in  body,  but  clear  and  vigorous  in  intellect, 
and  finally  died  of  an  inflammatory  disease,  in  Brook 
lyn,  Connecticut,  May  17, 1790,  at  the  good  old  age  of 
seventy  two.  The  old  warrior  was  borne  with  mar 
tial  honors  to  his  tomb,  and  his  fame  committed  to  the 
keeping  of  the  country  he  helped  to  defend. 


in 


MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

His  Early  Life — Appointed  Brigadier  General  in  the  American  Army 
— Invades  Canada — March  to  Gluebec — Storming  of  the  City  in  the 
midst  of  a  Snow  Storm — His  Bravery  and  Death — His  Character. 

ONE  summer  evening,  when  a  primeval  forest  covered 
almost  the  entire  surface  of  this  now  glorious  Union,  a 
young  British  officer,  in  rich  uniform,  stood  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Champlain,  and  looked  off  on  that  beautiful 
sheet  of  water.  He  was  only  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  and  but  for  his  manly,  almost  perfect  form,  he 
would  have  seemed  even  younger.  His  skin  was  fair, 
and  his  countenance  beautiful  as  a  Grecian  warrior's. 
As  he  stood  and  gazed  on  the  forest-girdled  lake,  stud 
ded  with  islands,  his  dark  eye  kindled  with  the  poetry 
of  the  scene,  and  he  little  thought  of  the  destiny  before 
him.  In  the  full  strength  and  pride  of  ripened  man 
hood,  he  was  yet  to  lead  over  those  very  waters  a  band 
of  freemen  against  the  country  under  whose  banner  he 
now  fought,  and  fall  foremost  in  freedom's  battle.  That 
handsome  young  officer  was  Richard  Montgomery,  a 
lieutenant  in  the  British  army.  A  native  of  Ireland, 
he  was  born  in  1736,  on  his  father's  estate  near  the  town 
of  Raphoe.  Educated  as  became  the  son  of  a  gentle- 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  133 

man,  he,  at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  received  a  com 
mission  in  the  English  army.  Joined  to  the  British 
expedition  sent  against  Louisburg,  he,  in  the  attack  and 
capture  of  that  place,  showed  such  heroism,  and  per 
formed  such  good  service,  that  he  was  promoted  to  a 
lieutenancy.  In  the  mean  time,  Abercrombie  having 
met  with  a  severe  repulse  before  Ticonderoga,  Amherst 
was  sent  to  his  relief.  Among  the  officers  in  his  corps 
was  young  Montgomery,  who  thus  became  acquainted 
with  all  the  localities  of  Lake  Champlain.  After  the 
reduction  of  Montreal  and  Quebec,  he  accompanied 
the  expedition  against  the  French  and  Spanish  West 
Indies,  where  he  conducted  himself  so  gallantly  that  he 
obtained  the  command  of  a  company.  The  treaty  of 
Versailles,  1763,  closed  the  war,  and  he  returned  to 
England  on  a  visit,  where  he  remained  nine  years. 

It  is  a  matter  of  mere  conjecture  what  finally  induced 
him  to  sell  his  commission  in  the  English  army  and 
emigrate  to  this  country.  He  arrived  in  1772,  and  pur 
chased  a  farm  near  New  York.  Soon  after,  he  married 
the  eldest  daughter  of  Robert  R.  Livingston,  then  one  of 
the  judges  of  the  Superior  Court  of  the  province. 
From  New  York,  he  removed  to  Rhinebeck,  in  Dutch- 
ess  county,  where  he  devoted  his  whole  time  to  agri 
culture.  In  the  meanwhile  the  controversy  grew 
warmer  between  the  parent  country  and  her  colonies. 
Taciturn,  and  little  inclined  to  public  life,  young  Mont 
gomery  evidently  did  not  at  first  take  a  deep  interest 
in  the  struggle.  His  feelings,  however,  and  his  judg 
ment,  were  both  on  the  side  of  his  adopted  country, 
and  in  1775,  he  was  elected  member  of  the  first  pro 
vincial  convention  of  New  York,  from  Dutchess  county. 

VOL.  i.  12 


134       MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

He  took  no  very  active  part  in  the  convention,  still  his 
views  were  so  well  known  respecting  the  controversy 
between  the  two  countries,  that,  at  the  appointment  of 
commander-in-chief  of  the  American  armies,  and  the 
creation  of  officers  by  Congress,  he  was  made  one  of 
the  eight  brigadier-generals.  His  views  of  the  contest 
may  be  gathered  from  a  letter  he  wrote  to  a  friend  after 
receiving  his  appointment.  Said  he  :  "  The  Congress 
having  done  me  the  honor  of  electing  me  brigadier- 
general  in  their  service,  is  an  event  which  must  put  an 
end  for  awhile,  perhaps  for  ever,  to  the  quiet  scheme 
of  life  I  had  prescribed  for  myself;  for  though  entirely 
unexpected  and  undesired  by  me,  the  will  of  an  op 
pressed  people,  compelled  to  choose  between  liberty 
and  slavery,  must  be  obeyed." 

Although  after  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  the  war 
began  to  assume  regularity  and  plan,  still  the  public 
feeling  was  unsettled,  and  no  one  had  formed  any  idea 
of  the  probable  issue  of  the  contest.  Neither  the  na 
tion  nor  Congress  was  as  yet  prepared  for  a  declara 
tion  of  independence.  It  was  resistance  to  oppression, 
a  struggle  for  rights  which  had  been  invaded,  with 
out  anticipating  the  result  of  an  entire  separation  from 
the  parent  country. 

While  the  national  feeling  was  in  this  state,  Congress 
conceived  the  design  of  invading  Canada,  then  in  a 
feeble  state  of  defence.  The  measure  promised  bril 
liant  success,  but  the  propriety  of  assuming  the  offen 
sive  was  questioned  by  many.  It  was  not  a  war  of  ag 
gression  on  which  they  had  entered,  but  strictly  one  of 
self-defence,  and  it  might  injure  their  cause,  not  only  in 
England,  but  at  home,  to  carry  the  sword  into  a  peace- 


INVADES     CANADA.  135 

ful  province.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  asserted  that 
this  distinction  between  offensive  and  defensive  opera 
tions  was  ridiculous — that  we  were  in  open  hostility, 
and  it  became  us  to  use  all  the  means  we  possessed  to 
strengthen  our  cause  and  weaken  that  of  the  enemy — 
that  if  Canada  was  left  alone,  it  would  soon  be  the 
channel  through  which  troops  would  be  poured  through 
the  interior  of  the  colonies — that  in  a  short  time  we 
would  be  forced  to  turn  our  attention  that  way,  and 
the  sooner  it  was  done  the  better.  Besides,  the  capture 
of  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point  had  opened  the 
country  to  our  troops,  and  it  needed  a  succession  of 
such  brilliant  achievements  to  keep  alive  the  courage 
of  the  people.  Congress  at  length  voted  in  favor  of 
the  expedition,  and  immediately  adopted  measures  for 
carrying  it  through.  The  army  of  invasion  was  to  be 
composed  of  three  thousand  troops  from  New  England 
and  New  York,  the  whole  to  be  placed  under  the  com 
mand  of  General  Schuyler,  aided  by  brigadier-generals 
Wooster  and  Montgomery.  Here  commences  the 
military  career  of  the  latter  in  the  service  of  the 
states.  Having  joined  the  army  at  Albany,  he  was  soon 
transferred  to  Crown  Point.  Learning  at  the  latter  place 
that  Carleton,  Governor  of  Canada,  was  collecting  seve 
ral  armed  ships  to  be  stationed  at  the  outlet  of  the  lake 
into  the  Sorel,  in  order  to  command  the  passage  into 
Canada,  he  immediately,  and  without  consulting  Gene 
ral  Schuyler  pushed  on  with  a  thousand  men,  and  took 
post  at  lie  aux  Noix  near  the  river.  In  the  mean  time, 
he  wrote  to  General  Schuyler  informing  him  of  what 
he  had  done,  expressing  his  regret  that  he  was  com 
pelled  to  move  without  orders,  but  excusing  himself  on 


136  MAJOR     GENERAL     MONTGOMERY. 

the  ground,  that  if  the  enemy  should  get  his  vessels  into 
the  lakes  it  would  be  over  with  the  expedition  for  that 
summer.  The  letter  is  couched  in  the  respectful  lan 
guage  of  a  subordinate  to  a  superior  officer,  but  at  the 
same  time  it  would  not  be  inappropriate  from  a  com- 
mander-in-chief. 

General  Schuyler  having  arrived  the  same  night 
that  Montgomery  reached  He  aux  Noix,  it  was  resolved 
to  push  nearer  Fort  St.  John.  But  they  had  scarcely 
reached  the  place  before  the  former,  owing  to  some 
wrong  information,  which  he  received  respecting 
the  amount  and  locality  of  the  forces  in  Canada,  and 
the  disposition  of  the  people,  ordered  his  army  back 
again  to  the  island.  Being  soon  after  prostrated  with 
sickness,  he  returned  to  Ticonderoga  and  Albany,  and 
Montgomery  took  entire  control  of  the  expedition. 
It  could  not  have  fallen  in  better  hands,  and  he  imme 
diately  began  to  look  about  for  the  best  mode  in  which 
to  employ  the  limited  means  he  possessed.  Some  re 
inforcements  having  arrived  with  the  artillery,  he 
determined  to  lay  siege  to  St.  John's,  although  defended 
by  a  garrison  of  a  thousand  soldiers.  But  his  ammu 
nition  failing  him,  he  made  but  little  progress  towards 
its  reduction.  In  the  mean  time,  a  mutiny  broke  out  in 
the  camp,  which  threatened  to  become  a  serious  matter. 
But  Montgomery,  by  his  eloquence,  threats,  appeals, 
and  more  than  all,  by  his  noble  behavior,  succeeded 
at  length  in  quelling  it,  and  the  siege  went  on.  In 
order  to  supply  himself  with  ammunition,  he  sent  a 
detachment  against  Fort  Chambly,  situated  a  little 
lower  down  the  river,  and  feebly  garrisoned.  It  was 
taken  without  resistance,  and  a  hundred  and  twenty 


CAPTURES     MONTREAL.  137 

barrels  of  powder  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  captors. 
Carleton,  in  the  mean  time,  seeing  that  St.  John's 
could  not  hold  out  much  longer  without  reinforcements, 
attempted  to  relieve  the  garrison,  but  being  repulsed  in 
endeavoring  to  cross  the  St.  Lawrence,  he  was  com 
pelled  to  retreat ;  and  the  fortress,  after  a  siege  of  six 
weeks,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Montgomery.  The  cap 
ture  of  Montreal  followed,  and  a  large  portion  of 
Canada  now  came  into  his  possession.  When  the 
news  of  this  brilliant  success  reached  Congress,  he 
was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  major-general.  His 
next  step  was  to  form  a  junction  with  Arnold,  who 
having  crossed  the  untrodden  wilds  of  Maine,  was  now 
with  his  small,  half  clothed,  and  badly  supplied  army, 
closely  investing  Quebec.  Montgomery  hearing  of  his 
arrival,  and  of  the  destitution  of  his  troops,  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  only  about  three  hundred  men,  and  began 
his  march.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  November,  and  win 
ter,  in  that  high  latitude,  had  already  set  in,  yet  through 
the  driving  snow,  and  over  the  frozen  ground  he  led 
his  little  band,  keeping  alive  their  courage,  by  cheering 
words,  and  inciting  them  to  effort  by  his  noble  ex 
ample.  Demanding  no  toil  to  which  he  did  not  him 
self  cheerfully  submit,  pointing  to  no  danger  where  he 
was  not  ready  first  to  go,  he  kept  his  undisciplined  and 
suffering  troops  about  him  with  a  firmness  that  kindles 
both  our  admiration  and  our  astonishment.  He  must 
have  known  it  was  well  nigh  a  hopeless  task  on  which 
he  had  entered,  and  as  his  commanding  form  leads  on  his 
coHmn  through  the  thickly  driving  snow,  there  seems 
around  him  a  pre-shadowing  of  his  doom.  Thus,  day 
after  day,  did  he  pursue  his  toilsome  way,  until  at 
12* 


138      MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

length  the  walls  of  Quebec  rose  before  him.  Here 
he  found  Arnold  ;  and  these  two  brave  men,  combining 
their  forces,  undertook  to  reduce  the  city.  Mont 
gomery,  on  whom  the  chief  command  devolved, 
finding  he  had  not  forces  enough  to  make  regular 
approaches,  commenced  harassing  the  inhabitants, 
hoping  that  a  favorable  opportunity  would  occur, 
by  which  he  could  make  a  successful  assault.  He 
first  attempted  with  five  small  mortars  to  throw  bombs 
into  the  town,  but  finding  this  ineffectual,  he  planted  a 
battery  of  six  cannon  and  a  howitzer  about  forty  rods 
from  the  walls,  and  opened  his  fire. 

Winter  had  now  fairly  come  upon  them — the  ground 
was  covered  with  snow,  and  Montgomery  was  com 
pelled  to  place  his  guns  on  blocks  of  ice.  Not  being 
heavy  enough  to  make  impression  on  solid  walls,  their 
fire  was  of  little  consequence.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
troops  suffered  terribly  from  the  frost  and  exposure. 
The  heavens  were  constantly  darkened  with  snow, 
which  piled  up  around  the  American  camp  in  huge 
drifts.  Through  these  the  miserably  clad  troops  would 
flounder,  and  with  benumbed  limbs  and  stiffened  fingers, 
place  themselves  in  order  of  battle.  The  diminished 
columns  were  mere  black  specks  amid  the  smooth, 
white  mass  that  covered  the  earth.  It  was  impossible 
to  keep  any  troops  long  in  the  open  field,  exposed  to 
such  biting  cold,  and  Montgomery  began  to  look 
anxiously  about  him  for  some  way  of  escape  from  the 
perils  that  every  moment  thickened  around  his  little 
army.  To  add  to  the  horrors  of  his  position,  the 
small-pox  broke  out  in  the  camp ;  and  consternation 
filled  the  hearts  of  the  soldiers,  when  they  saw  their 


STORMING     OF     aUEBEC. 

companions  struck  down  by  this  plague,  which  had  be 
come  the  terror  of  the  army.  Those  attacked  with 
the  symptoms  were  ordered  to  wear  a  sprig  of  hem 
lock  in  their  hats.  These  sprigs  increased  so  fast 
that  despair  began  to  seize  the  troops,  and  it  was  evi 
dent  that  even  the  power  of  Montgomery  could  not 
keep  them  together  much  longer.  On  his  first  arrival 
at  Quebec  he  had  quelled  a  dangerous  mutiny,  only 
by  the  greatest  effort,  and  should  another,  in  the  pre 
sent  desponding  state  of  the  men,  break  out,  the  army 
must  inevitably  disband.  In  this  position  of  affairs  he 
saw  clearly  that  he  must  carry  the  city  by  assault,  or 
abandon  the  design  of  taking  it  altogether.  Accor 
dingly  a  council  of  war  was  called,  and  the  assault 
proposed.  Both  men  and  officers  were  in  favor  of  it, 
desperate  as  the  alternative  seemed,  and  it  was  re 
solved  to  divide  the  army  into  four  columns,  and  make 
an  attack  on  the  city,  at  four  different  points. 


STORMING    OF    aUEBEC. 

Two  attacks,  led  by  Majors  Livingston  and  Brown, 
against  the  upper  town,  were  to  be  only  feints  to  dis 
tract  the  attention  of  the  garrison,  while  Arnold  and 
Montgomery  should  conduct  the  two  real  ones  against 
the  lower  town.  It  was  on  the  last  day  of  December, 
before  daylight,  that  this  gallant  band  put  itself  in  bat 
tle  array.  The  wintry  morning  was  dark  and  gloomy, 
and  a  driving  snow-storm  filled  the  air,  weaving  before 
hand  a  winding-sheet  for  the  noble  commander  and  his 
brave  followers.  The  tall  and  graceful  form  of  Mont- 


140  MAJOR     GENERAL     MONTGOMERY. 

gomery  was  seen  gliding  through  the  gloom,  pressed 
close  after  by  his  resolute  column,  and  at  length  ap 
proached  Cape  Diamond,  where  he  came  upon  the  first 
barrier  defended  by  cannon.  The  enemy,  seized  with 
a  sudden  panic,  turned  and  fled.  Could  the  Americans 
have  immediately  pushed  forward,  the  assault  would 
doubtless  have  been  successful.  But  large  banks  of 
snow  filled  up  the  path ;  and  as  they  rounded  the  pro 
montory  of  the  Cape,  they  stumbled  upon  huge  masses 
of  ice  thrown  up  by  the  river,  which  so  obstructed  their 
progress  that  the  British  soldiers  had  time  to  recover 
their  surprise,  and  rally  again  behind  the  barrier. 
Montgomery,  with  his  own  hands,  lifted  at  the  blocks 
of  ice,  and  dug  away  the  snow,  cheering  on  his  men 
as  they  one  by  one  struggled  through,  until  at  last 
they  cleared  themselves,  and  approached  the  battery, 
over  which  the  gunners  stood  with  lighted  matches. 
The  men  seemed  a  moment  to  hesitate,  when  Mont 
gomery  shouted  forth — "  Men  of  New  York,  you  will 
not  fear  to  follow  where  your  General  leads — -for 
ward!"  With  his  sword  waving  over  his  head, 
he  rushed  forward  up  to  the  mouths  of  the  cannon, 
followed  with  a  shout  by  his  devoted  soldiers.  The 
guns,  charged  with  grape-shot,  opened  in  their  very 
faces  ;  and  when  the  smoke  lifted,  there  lay  the  lifeless 
form  of  Montgomery,  almost  under  the  wheels  of  the 
artillery,  whither  his  headlong  courage  had  carried 
him.  The  column  no  longer  having  a  gallant  leader  at 
its  head,  broke  and  fled ;  and  this  part  of  the  garrison 
being  relieved,  immediately  hastened  to  the  support  of 
those  pressed  by  the  other  corps.  This  was  the  forlorn 
hope,  and  A?*nold  sternly  marched  at  its  head.  His 


WOUND     OF     ARNOLD.  141 

course  lay  by  St.  Roque,  toward  a  place  called  Sant- 
au-Matelot,  and  he  was  followed  by  Captain  Morgan, 
with  his  deadly  riflemen.  All  at  once  they  found 
themselves  in  a  narrow  way,  filled  with  snow,  and 
swept  by  a  battery  that  was  protected  by  a  barrier. 
Up  to  this  Arnold  moved  with  an  intrepid  step,  cheer 
ing  on  his  men,  when  a  musket-ball  struck  his  leg, 
shattering  the  bone.  He  fell  forward  in  the  snow — 
then,  by  a  strong  effort,  rose  again,  and  endeavored 
still  to  press  on  ;  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
he  could  finally  be  persuaded  to  be  carried  to  the 
rear.  The  command  then  devolved  upon  Morgan, 
who  was  as  headlong  and  daring  as  Arnold.  Hur 
rying  forward  two  companies,  he  fell  with  terrible 
fury  on  the  battery.  Pressing  through  the  storm  of 
grape-shot,  they  planted  their  ladders  against  the  para 
pets,  and  boldly  mounting  them,  fired  down  upon  the 
besieged.  Dismayed  by  such  resolute  daring,  the  ene 
my  fled,  leaving  the  battery  in  Morgan's  possession. 
Here  the  bold  rifleman  was  compelled  to  halt,  for  the 
main  part  of  his  column  still  lingered  behind,  flounder 
ing  through  the  drifts.  His  position  at  this  moment 
was  dreadfully  trying  to  a  brave  man.  Daylight  had 
not  yet  dawned,  nothing  had  been  heard  from  Mont 
gomery,  and  the  snow  kept  falling  in  an  overwhelming 
shower,  and  blowing  furiously  in  the  soldier's  faces. 
As  amid  the  gloom  and  tempest,  he  stood  and  listened, 
bright  flashes  would  open  in  the  darkness  on  every 
side,  followed  by  the  rattle  of  musketry  and  roar  of 
cannon,  and  death  cry  of  his  followers ;  while  he 
could  not  see  a  step  forward,  and  all  was  uncertainty 
and  terror.  Involved  in  this  mystery,  ignorant  of  the 


142      MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

fate  of  their  comrades,  the  men  began  to  be  terrified, 
and  it  was  only  by  the  repeated  promises  of  a  glorious 
victory  that  Morgan  kept  them  firm.  He  ran  back  to 
the  barrier  and  shouted  through  the  storm  to  those  be 
hind  to  hurry  up.  Reinforced  at  length  by  two  com 
panies,  and  the  morning  beginning  to  dawn,  he  made  a 
last  desperate  effort.  Close  by  was  a  second  barrier, 
protected  by  a  battery,  which  would  open  on  his  col 
umn  the  moment  he  turned  an  angle  in  the  street.  But 
borne  up  by  that  lofty  courage  which  despises  death, 
he  hurried  on  his  men,  and  with  a  terrible  voice,  that 
was  heard  above  the  roar  of  musketry,  summoned  them 
to  the  assault.  Pressing  after  that  fierce  shout,  with 
answering  shouts,  they  rushed  to  the  charge.  As  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  they  met  front  to  front 
an  English  detachment,  just  sallying  from  the  battery 
to  repel  the  attack.  The  commanding  officer  called 
out  to  the  Americans  to  lay  down  their  arms.  Morgan 
seizing  a  musket,  shot  him  dead  in  his  footsteps,  and 
again  shouted,  "forward,  my  brave  fellows  /"  With 
leveled  bayonets  they  swept  onward,  when  the  English 
fled  behind  their  battery  and  closed  the  barrier.  Then 
occurred  a  most  desperate  and  almost  hand  to  hand 
fight.  Swept  by  a  destructive  fire  in  front,  and  a  still 
more  deadly  one  from  the  houses  on  each  side  of  the 
street,  where  they  were  packed,  the  soldiers  pressing 
close  after  their  intrepid  leader,  staggered  up  to  the 
very  mouths  of  the  cannon.  Some  of  them  placing 
their  ladders  against  the  barrier,  climbed  up,  but  the 
bayonets  glistening  below  deterred  them  from  leap 
ing  down.  Unable  longer  to  stand  the  galling  fire 
which  cut  them  down  like  grass,  they  fled  into  the 


CAPTURE      OF      MORGAN.  143 

houses  for  shelter ;  until  at  length  Morgan  stood  almost 
alone  before  the  barrier,  while  the  few  with  him  were 
covered  with  snow,  and  scarcely  able  to  hold  their  wet 
and  dripping  muskets  in  their  benumbed  hands.  Look 
ing  coolly  around  him,  he  saw  the  street  nearly  de 
serted  of  his  followers,  and  he  shouted  to  them  to  re 
turn,  and  strove  by  his  words,  and  more  than  all  by  his 
personal  daring,  to  revive  their  courage.  Vain  effort ; 
human  resolution  could  -go  no  further,  and  his  brave 
heart  sunk  within  him  when  he  ordered  the  retreat  to 
be  sounded.  But  his  troops,  now  thoroughly  disheart 
ened,  would  not  venture  out  again  into  the  deadly  fire 
even  to  retreat,  and  Morgan  soon  found  himself  sur 
rounded  by  the  enemy.  Gathering  his  few  remaining 
troops  about  him,  he  resolved  to  cut  his  way  through  the 
ranks,  but  their  overwhelming  and  rapidly  increasing 
numbers  convinced  him  it  would  be  a  hopeless  effort, 
and  he  was  compelled  to  surrender.  The  storm  still 
raged,  and  all  along  the  way  where  those  two  columns 
had  passed,  were  strewn  corpses,  many  of  them  now 
become  mere  hillocks  of  snow.  The  rapidly  falling 
flakes  had  blotted  out  the  stain  of  blood,  and  already 
wrapped  a  shroud  around  the  brave  dead.  But  the 
noblest  form  of  all  was  that  of  Montgomery.  Young 
Burr  had  lifted  the  body  on  his  shoulders,  and  endeav 
ored  to  bear  it  offj  but  was  compelled  to  abandon  it 
to  the  enemy. 

HIS    CHARACTER. 

Of  chivalric  courage  and  that  magnanimity  of  heart 
which  ever  wins  the  affections  of  a  soldier,  he  was 
beloved  by  his  men  and  honored  by  his  foes.  His 


144       MAJOR  GENERAL  MONTGOMERY. 

personal  appearance  was  striking  in  the  extreme.  Su 
perbly  formed,  handsome,  and  full  of  enthusiasm  and 
daring,  he  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  military  leader. 
His  eye  was  dark  and  lustrous,  and  on  ordinary  occa 
sions  beamed  with  benevolence  and  feeling,  but  in  the 
excitement  of  battle  it  flashed  with  terrible  brilliancy. 
He  was  inclined  to  be  dreamy  and  reflective,  and 
spoke  but  little  unless  aroused,  and  then  his  words 
fell  like  burning  coals  on  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard 
him.  Not  a  stain  sullied  his  character,  and  his  heart 
was  true  to  every  sentiment  of  virtue,  and  the  very 
seat  of  honor.  He  was  but  thirty-nine  years  of  age 
when  he  fell  on  this  disastrous  field.  Had  he  lived,  he 
would  have  stood  first  among  our  military  leaders,  and 
first  as  a  true  patriot  and  statesman. 

Many  have  blamed  him  for  hazarding  an  attack  on 
Quebec  with  so  small  a  force,  but  what  else  could  he 
have  done.  To  have  abandoned  the  project  after  all 
the  expense  and  labor  it  had  cost,  without  an  effort, 
would  have  subjected  him  to  still  severer  condemna 
tion.  Both  his  reputation  and  the  honor  of  the  country 
forbade  this.  To  keep  his  men  together,  ravaged  by 
the  small-pox  and  encamped  in  open  fields  of  snow, 
was  impossible.  There  remained  therefore  but  one 
alternative — to  attempt  to  carry  the  city  by  assault.  It 
failed.  Had  it  been  successful,  it  would  have  been  re 
garded  a  most  brilliant  exploit,  not  only  in  its  execu 
tion,  but  in  its  conception.  But  for  the  sudden  fall  of 
the  two  leaders,  Arnold  and  Montgomery,  the  fate  of 
the  day  might  have  been  very  different.  The  truth  is, 
Montgomery  was  required  to  do  what  could  not  be  ac 
complished  with  the  limited  means  at  his  disposal.  He 


CAUSE     OF     FAILURE.  145 

failed,  not  through  lack  of  courage,  or  skill,  or  perse 
verance,  but  from  want  of  sufficient  force.  He  did  all 
that  a  brave  man  and  noble  officer  could  do,  and  fell  in 
the  effort.  His  bright  and  promising  career  suddenly 
closed  in  darkness,  and  freedom  mourned  another  of 
her  champions  fallen. 

VOL.  I  13 


IV. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

His  Birth  and  Boyhood — His  Cruel  Disposition — Enters  the  Army — 
Sent  against  Ticonderoga — The  March  across  the  Wilderness — Suf 
ferings  of  his  Men  at  Quebec — Retreat  from  Canada— Battle  of 
Valcour  Island — Bravery  at  Danbury — Relieves  Fort  Schuyler — 
His  Bravery  at  Saratoga — duarrel  with  Gates — His  Terrible  Ap 
pearance  in  the  Second  Battle  of  Saratoga — His  Treason  and  Char 
acter — His  Death. 

IN  revolutions,  energetic  characters  always  come 
first  to  the  surface,  and  begin  to  mould  the  troubled 
elements  around  them  to  their  own  purposes.  But  to 
complete  and  permanent  success,  it  is  necessary  they 
should  assimilate  to  the  principles  that  govern  the 
movement.  Lafayette  was  too  good  for  the  French 
revolution ;  Benedict  Arnold  not  good  enough  for  the 
American ;  hence  the  former  was  thrown  into  prison, 
and  the  latter  turned  traitor.  One  fell  before  wicked 
men,  the  other  fled  before  virtuous  ones.  One  was  too 
self-denying  and  patriotic  to  succeed  where  self-aggran 
dizement  was  the  ruling  motive ;  the  other  too  selfish 
to  stand  firm  in  a  struggle  where  personal  emoluments 
must  be  forgotten  in  the  public  welfare. 

Arnold  was  one  of  those  rash,  reckless  persons,  like 
Murat  and  Junot,  who  in  times  of  peace  become  bold 
speculators,  roving  adventurers,  or  dissipated  young 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  147 

men.  The  fierce  life  within  them  must  out  in  some 
form  or  other,  and  expend  itself  somewhere.  In  war 
they  form  the  leading  characters,  for  they  are  at  home 
in  the  excitement  of  battle,  and  delight  to  struggle  on  a 
field  of  great  risks.  Fate,  too,  seems  to  have  special 
charge  of  such  men,  seldom  allowing  them  to  fall  amid 
the  perils  into  which  they  so  eagerly  leap.  It  needs 
no  summoning  of  the  resolution,  no  bracing  up  of  the 
energies  in  them  to  meet  danger,  endure  privations, 
and  work  prodigies.  Courting  the  tumult  and  braving 
the  shock,  they  seem  at  home  amid  the  storm,  and  ride 
the  ocean  waves  with  more  composure  and  safety  than 
the  calm  surface  of  the  summer  lake. 

From  his  boyhood,  Arnold  exhibited  the  leading 
traits  of  his  character.  Reckless,  pitiless,  and  daring, 
he  was  the  terror  of  his  playmates,  and  disliked  by  all. 
He  would  not  only  rob  nests  of  their  young,  but  torture 
his  victims  so  as  to  draw  forth  the  agonizing  cries  and 
efforts  of  the  parent  bird.  He  would  scatter  broken 
glass  in  the  road,  where  the  school-children  passed 
barefoot,  and  tempt  them  round  the  druggist-shop  in 
which  he  was  employed,  with  broken  phials,  only  to 
scourge  them  away  with  a  horsewhip.  He  was  bold 
as  he  was  cruel,  and  delighted  in  those  perilous  feats 
which  none  of  his  companions  dared  imitate.  It  was  a 
favorite  amusement  with  him  at  a  grist-mill,  to  which 
he  sometimes  carried  grain,  to  seize  the  large  water- 
wheel  by  the  arms,  and  go  round  and  round  with  it  in 
its  huge  evolutions — now  buried  under  the  foaming 
water,  and  now  hanging  above,  in  fierce  delight,  while 
his  companions  looked  on  in  silent  terror. 

Born  in  Norwich,  Jan.  3,  1740,  he  was  thirty-five 


148  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

years  old  when  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill  was  fought. 
His  father,  first  a  cooper,  then  a  sea-captain,  finally 
settled  down  at  Norwich  a  merchant.     Prospering  in 
business,  he  was  enabled  to  give  his  son  the  best  educa 
tion  which  the  town  afforded.    But  suspicions  rested  on 
his  character,  and  at  length  prosperity  deserted  him, 
and  he  became  a  poor,  despised  drunkard.     Benedict 
was  the  son  of  his  second  wife,  who  was  universally 
esteemed  as  a  virtuous  and  pious  woman.     Out  of  six 
children,  only  this  son  and  a  daughter  lived  to  maturity. 
The  mother's  virtues  seemed  wholly  lost  on  the  boy, 
and  he  partook  of  his  father's  wayward,  unprincipled 
character.     Apprenticed  to   a  druggist  in  his  native 
town,  he  ran  away  when  only  sixteen  years  of  age, 
and  enlisted  in  the  army.     This  afflicted  his  mother  so 
deeply,  that  her  pastor  and  some  friends  interposed, 
and  obtained  his  release.     Soon  after,  however,  he  ran 
away  again,  and  entered  the  army:  but  the  restraints 
of  a  garrison  life  and  the  severe  discipline  of  military 
rule,  were  too  much  for  his  restless,  independent  spirit, 
and  he  deserted  and  returned  home.     Having  served 
out  his  apprenticeship  as  a  druggist,  he  went  to  New 
Haven  and  commenced  business  on  his  own  account. 
Succeeding  by  his  energy  and  industry,  he  enlarged 
his  shop,  and  extended  his  trade.     Having  acquired  a 
considerable  property,  he  threw  up  his  employment  as 
druggist,  and    bought  vessels,  which  he   commanded 
himself.     He  carried  horses  and  cattle,  and  provisions, 
to  the  West  Indies,  and  led  a  life  more  suited  to  his 
roving,  adventurous  taste.     Taking  fire  at  the  slightest 
insult,  and  ever  ready  to  back  with  his  arm  what  he 
had  uttered  with  his  tongue,  he  almost  always  had 


HORSEWHIPS     A     SAILOR.  149 

some  quarrel  on  his  hands,  and  was  both  hated  and 
feared.  On  one  occasion,  a  sailor  having  reported  that 
he  had  smuggled  some  goods  in  from  the  West  Indies, 
he  met  him  in  the  street,  and  horsewhipped  him  dread 
fully,  and  forced  him  to  leave  the  place  with  the  solemn 
promise  never  to  return.  But  seeing  him  in  the  streets 
a  few  days  after,  he  caught  and  dragged  him  to  the 
whipping-post,  and  gave  him  forty  lashes,  and  again 
drove  him  out  of  town.  The  sailor  again  returning, 
and  entering  a  complaint,  Arnold  was  arrested  and 
tried,  and  fined  fifty  shillings. 

One  day,  while  attempting  to  drive  some  cattle 
aboard  his  ships,  he  exhibited  that  recklessness  which 
afterwards  formed  such  a  distinguished  trait  in  his 
character.  One  of  the  oxen  becoming  frightened 
broke  away  from  the  herd,  and  dashing  through  the 
drivers,  sped  off  in  a  furious  run.  Arnold,  who  was 
standing  by,  immediately  sprang  on  a  fleet  horse  and 
spurred  after.  Coming  up  to  the  enraged  animal  in  a 
full  gallop,  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  seizing  it  by 
the  nostrils,  held  it  firmly  in  his  iron  grasp  till  he  sub 
dued  it.  About  this  time  also  he  fought  a  duel  with  a 
Frenchman  in  the  West  Indies. 

At  length,  however,  being  as  bold  and  rash  in  his 
speculations  as  he  was  in  his  feelings,  he  became  a 
bankrupt,  and  went  back  to  his  old  business  of  drug 
gist,  at  which  he  remained  till  the  commencement  of 
the  Revolution.  He  was  at  this  time  captain  of  a  mi 
litia  company  of  fifty-eight  men,  called  the  Governor's 
Guards.  When  the  news  of  the  battles  of  Concord 
and  Lexington  reached  New  Haven  it  threw  the  town 
into  a  perfect  uproar :  all  the  bells  were  set  ringing, 

13* 


150  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

the  streets  were  filled  with  men  running  to  and  fro  in 
the  highest  excitement,  till  almost  the  entire  population 
assembled  by  common  consent  on  the  public  green. 
The  young  captain  of  the  Guards  was  of  course  one  of 
the  most  conspicuous  persons  there.  He  made  a 
speech  to  the  multitude,  and  after  appealing  to  their 
patriotism  and  manhood  with  all  the  eloquence  he  was 
master  of,  he  offered  to  head  any  number  of  volunteers 
that  would  accompany  him  ;  and  march  to  the  field  of 
combat.  He  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous  for  the 
next  day,  when  about  sixty  were  found  willing  to  put 
themselves  under  his  command.  Every  thing  was 
ready  for  immediate  departure,  except  the  ammunition, 
which  the  selectmen  had  locked  up.  Fearing  to  incur 
the  responsibility  of  taking  part  in  such  a  sudden  and 
hostile  movement,  they  wished  to  wait  till  the  chief 
authorities  of  the  state  could  be  consulted.  But  Ar 
nold's  blood  was  up,  and  he  would  not  allow  any  obsta 
cle  to  be  thrown  in  his  way  :  so  assembling  his  little 
band  on  the  green,  he  sent  a  peremptory  summons  to 
the  selectmen  to  deliver  up  the  keys  of  the  magazine, 
or  he  would  break  it  open  by  force.  The  keys  were 
surrendered,  and  the  company  helping  itself  to  ammu 
nition,  marched  rapidly  to  Cambridge,  the  head  quar 
ters  of  the  army. 

No  sooner  had  he  arrived  than  he  waited  on  the 
Committee  of  Safety  of  Massachusetts,  with  a  propo 
sal  to  head  an  expedition  against  Ticonderoga.  The 
Committee  accepted  it,  furnishing  him  with  supplies, 
and  appointed  him  colonel,  with  the  power  to  enlist 
four  hundred  men  for  the  enterprise.  Burning  to  dis 
tinguish  himself,  and  now  fairly  afloat  on  a  sea  of  ex- 


CAPTURES     ST.     J  O  H  N  '  S  .  151 

citement  in  which  he  delighted,  he  allowed  no  delay ; 
and  within  three  days  after  his  commission  was  made 
out,  he  was  in  Stockbridge,  on  the  western  boundary 
of  the  state.  He  had  travelled  over  fifty  miles  a  day, 
in  his  haste  to  be  on  the  scene  of  action ;  but  at  Stock- 
bridge  he  learned  to  his  mortification,  that  a  similar  ex 
pedition  had  already  been  fitted  out  and  gone  on.  This 
news,  however,  only  inflamed  still  more  his  ardor,  and 
stopping  only  long  enough  to  appoint  some  officers, 
with  instructions  to  enlist  men  as  fast  as  they  could, 
and  follow  after,  he  pushed  on  with  but  one  attendant, 
and  overtook  the  party  at  Castleton,  within  twenty-five 
miles  of  Ticonderoga.  Ethan  Allen  had  been  ap 
pointed  commander-in-chief,  and  the  next  day  they 
were  to  resume  their  march.  Here  Arnold,  furious 
with  disappointment,  suddenly  introduced  himself  to  the 
officers,  and  pulling  out  his  commission  demanded  the 
command  of  the  expedition.  For  a  moment  every 
thing  was  thrown  into  confusion,  and  the  men  were  on 
the  brink  of  mutiny,  when  Arnold  adopting  a  more  pru 
dent  course,  waived  his  claim  and  offered  to  join  them 
as  a  volunteer,  maintaining  his  rank  but  holding  no 
command.  Harmony  being  restored,  the  little  army 
moved  forward,  and  Arnold  had  the  satisfaction  of 
passing  through  the  gates  of  the  fort  side  by  side  with 
Allen.  No  sooner,  however,  had  the  fort  fallen,  than 
he  again  claimed  his  command,  and  insisted  on  holding 
it,  till  the  Connecticut  committee  formally  appointed 
Ethan  Allen  commander-in-chief  of  the  garrison.  En 
raged  at  this  insult,  he  transmitted  his  grievances  to 
the  legislature  of  Massachusetts.  But  his  restless  mind 
could  not  wait  for  redress  before  he  again  took  the 


152  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

field.  About  fifty  men  who  had  been  enlisted  by  his 
orders  on  the  road,  having  joined  him  at  Ticonderoga, 
he  four  days  after  the  surrender  of  the  fort  put  himself 
at  their  head,  and  moved  forward  upon  St.  John's. 
With  only  one  schooner  he  sailed  down  the  lake,  and 
having  surprised  the  garrison  and  taken  thirteen  men 
prisoners,  he  seized  a  British  sloop,  destroyed  five  bat- 
teaux,  and  captured  four  others,  and  then  set  sail  for 
Ticonderoga.  This  time  he  had  got  ahead  of  Allen, 
for  he  met  him  about  fifteen  miles  from  St.  John's  on 
his  way  to  attack  it. 

Soon  after,  hearing  that  reinforcements  were  coming 
from  Canada,  he  organized  a  fleet,  consisting  of  one 
schooner,  one  sloop,  and  several  batteaux,  of  which  he 
took  command,  and  stationed  himself  at  West  Port. 
In  the  mean  time,  letters  had  been  sent  on  to  Mas 
sachusetts,  complaining  of  his  arrogance — some  of 
them  true,  and  some  of  them  false — which  made  the 
legislature  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his  complaints,  and  finally, 
send  a  delegation  to  Ticonderoga  to  enquire  into  his 
conduct,  and  if  necessary,  order  him  home — at  least, 
to  put  him  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Hinman. 
They  found  him  at  Crown  Point,  straining  every  nerve 
to  maintain  the  advantage  that  had  been  gained,  and 
acting  with  the  skill  and  energy  of  a  brave  officer. 
When  they  laid  their  instructions  before  him,  he  was 
thrown  into  a  transport  of  fury.  He  complained  of 
injustice  and  dishonorable  treatment,  and  rightly  too. 
He  declared,  and  with  truth,  that  an  order  to  enquire 
into  his  conduct,  when  no  charge  had  been  made,  was 
unprecedented, m  and  a  commission  to  judge  of  his 
capacity  an  indignity — that  this  ought  to  have  been 


r 

MARCH     THROUGH     THE     WILDERNESS.          153 

. 

thought  of  before — that  he  had  already  paid  out  of  his 
own  pocket  more  than  a  hundred  pounds  for  the  public 
service,  and  had  omitted  to  do  nothing  enjoined  in  his 
commission — and  finally,  that  he  would  not  submit  to  the 
degradation  of  being  placed  under  a  junior  officer. 
The  result  was,  he  resigned  his  command  ;  and  having 
discharged  his  men,  who  gave  open  evidence  of  their 
dissatisfaction  at  the  manner  in  which  their  leader  had 
been  treated,  he  hastened  to  Cambridge. 

HIS    MARCH    THROUGH    THE    WILDERNESS. 

Some  time  after  his  return  to  Cambridge,  the  pro 
ject  for  the  invasion  of  Canada,  mentioned  in  the 
sketch  of  Montgomery,  was  resolved  upon,  and  Wash 
ington  took  the  bold  resolution  to  send  an  army 
through  the  forests  of  Maine  and  New  Hampshire,  to 
Quebec.  Ten  companies  of  musketmen  from  New 
England,  and  three  of  riflemen  from  Virginia  and 
Pennsylvania,  under  the  command  of  the  brave  Mor 
gan,  and  one  of  artillery,  making  in  all  eleven  hundred 
men,  were  selected  for  this  hazardous  enterprise. 
Washington,  who  knew  the  energy,  daring  and  indo 
mitable  will  of  Arnold,  appointed  him  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  forces,  with  the  rank  of  colonel.  To  an 
ordinary  man  this  appointment  would  have  been  any 
thing  but  acceptable.  But  Arnold  seemed  to  love 
difficulties,  and  never  hesitated  to  measure  his  strength 
with  any  obstacle.  As  there  was  nothing  he  dare  not 
do,  so  there  was  nothing  he  would  refuse  to  attempt. 

After  much  deliberation  it  was  determined  to  ascend 
the  eastern  branch  of  the  Kennebec,  and  strike  across  to 


154  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

the  Dead  River,  and  folio  wing  up  this  stream  till  opposite 
the  sources  of  the  Chaudiere,  which  flows  in  an  opposite 
direction,  into  the  St.  Lawrence,  cross  through  the  forest 
to  it.  All  the  provisions,  ammunition,  camp  equipage, 
and  artillery  were  to  be  transported  along  this  un 
trodden  route,  of  two  hundred  miles,  through  a  blank 
wilderness.  -  The  reason  for  this  terrific  enterprise, 
was  the  defenceless  state  of  Quebec,  and  the  effect  of 
a  sudden  surprise  from  an  unexpected  source  and  be 
fore  reinforcements  could  be  sent  into  the  city. 

At  length,  every  thing  being  ready,  the  expedition 
set  sail  from  Newburyport  and  landed  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Kennebec.  Here  two  hundred  batteaux  were  in 
waiting,  and  the  whole  proceeded  up  the  river  to  Fort 
Western,  opposite  where  Augusta  now  stands.  The 
difficulties  now  commenced,  and  the  tremendous  energy 
of  Arnold  began  to  develop  itself.  Responsibility 
steadied  him,  and  his  headlong  impulses  became  so 
bered  down  into  stern  resolution.  He  was  not  igno 
rant  of  the  perils  before  him,  nor  the  uncertainty  of 
success.  He  had  not  gone  blindly  into  them  trusting 
to  his  own  fertile  genius  and  brave  heart  to  extricate 
him,  but  had  exhausted  every  means  of  information 
within  his  reach,  and  with  his  eyes  open  marched  bold 
ly  into  difficulties,  from  which  he  knew  nothing  but  his 
genius  and  energy  could  deliver  him. 

The  advance  guard,  composed  of  riflemen,  was  com 
manded  by  Morgan,  a  worthy  companion  in  such  an 
enterprise.  Two  braver,  more  resolute,  and  uncon 
querable  men,  never  moved  to  an  onset  together.  The 
army  was  divided  into  four  detachments,  each  to  march 
the  day  after  the  other.  Arnold  waited  at  Fort  West- 


ASCENT     OF     THE     KENNEBEC.  155 

ern  till  he  saw  the  whole  embarked  and  pulling  slowly 
up  the  current,  and  then  took  a  birch  bark  canoe  and 
followed  after.  The  dark  and  silent  forest  received 
the  army  into  its  bosom,  over  whose  sad  fate  the  coun 
try  was  yet  to  weep. 

Arnold  pushing  rapidly  on,  passed  the  wrhole  line  of 
boats  in  his  swift  canoe,  and  overtook  Morgan  at  Nor- 
ridgewock  Falls.  Here  the  river  was  so  broken  into 
rapids,  it  was  necessary  to  carry  all  the  boats,  and  lug 
gage,  and  artillery,  a  mile  and  a  quarter  through  the 
woods.  First  the  bushes  had  to  be  hewn  away  and 
the  trees  cut  down  to  make  a  passage,  then  the  boats 
hoisted  upon  men's  shoulders,  or  placed  on  sleds,  and 
carried  forward,  and  finally,  all  the  baggage,  ammuni 
tion,  and  stores,  dragged  across.  In  coming  thus  far, 
the  boats  had  sprunk  aleak,  and  between  repairing 
them  and  transporting  the  baggage,  it  took  the  army 
seven  days  to  go  this  mile  and  a  quarter.  Arnold,  as 
before,  stood  on  the  forest-covered  bank  till  the  last 
boat  left  it.  His  eye  then  rested  a  moment  on  the 
straggling  line  that  wound  up  and  onward  till  shut  in 
by  the  forest,  when  he  sprung  into  the  canoe  and 
shot  forward.  As  he  passed  along,  the  river  before 
him  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was  filled  with  his 
toiling  army,  as  nearly  to  their  armpits  in  the  water 
they  shoved  the  heavy  boats  against  the  current.  Loud 
cheers  received  his  frail  canoe  as  it  came  and  went  on 
the  sight  of  those  brave  fellows  who  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  caught  his  energy  and  determination. 

At  night  they  would  go  on  shore,  and  kindling  a 
blazing  fire  in  the  forest,  lie  down  to  rest.  The  morn 
ing  sun  saw  them  again  plunge  into  the  river,  and  push 


156          MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

cheerfully  forward.  At  some  of  the  carrying  places 
the  batteaux  had  to  be  pulled  up  precipices  and  let 
down  steep  declivities — at  others  borne  carefully  over 
swamps  into  which  the  men  would  sink  at  every  step. 
Around  this  struggling  multitude  the  officers  hovered 
in  constant  oversight,  while  Arnold  would  shoot  back 
wards  and  forwards  along  the  line,  seeing  and  direct 
ing  everything.  Never  in  the  tumult  of  the  fight,  as 
he  galloped  to  the  charge,  did  he  appear  to  better  ad 
vantage  than  here,  as  away  from  the  habitations  of 
men,  he  struggled  to  carry  his  army  through  the  for 
ests  of  Maine. 

At  length,  after  incredible  toil,  they  reached  the 
Great  Carrying-place,  extending  from  the  Kennebec  to 
the  Dead  River.  A  hundred  and  fifty  men  had  disap 
peared  from  the  ranks,  having  fallen  sick  or  deserted 
on  the  way,  and  now  fifteen  miles  through  the  forest 
was  to  be  traversed  by  the  army,  carrying  the  heavy 
boats,  camp  equipage,  and  artillery,  on  their  shoulders. 
Nearly  a  fortnight  of  incessant  toil  had  now  been 
passed  in  the  forest,  and  yet  the  difficulties  of  the  way 
had  hardly  commenced.  Only  three  small  ponds  oc 
curred  in  this  interval  of  fifteen  miles.  It  was  three 
miles  to  the  first,  yet  the  men  cheerfully  heaved  the 
boats  from  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  taking  them  on 
their  shoulders,  plunged  into  the  forest,  and  began  to 
labor  up  a  bold  precipitous  mountain.  No  bugle-note 
cheered  their  march,  yet  those  thousand  men  panted 
on  without  a  murmur.  If  this  had  been  a  retreat  from 
a  victorious  enemy,  and  they  were  fleeing  from  danger 
towards  safety,  such  cheerful  resignation  and  sturdy 
resolution  would  not  have  appeared  so  strange.  But 


REACHES     THE     DEAD     RIVER.  157 

to  go  from  their  homes  after  the  enemy,  through  such 
a  wilderness,  and  place  such  an  insurmountable  obsta 
cle  in  the  way  of  their  retreat,  was  an  exhibition  of 
courage  and  endurance  without  a  parallel  in  history, 
imagine  that  army  for  a  moment,  a  hundred  miles  either 
way  from  a  human  habitation,  converting  themselves 
into  beasts  of  burden,  plunging  into  deeper  difficulties 
and  dangers  at  every  step,  bowed  down  under  heavy 
boats,  climbing  over  mountains  with  no  prospect  be 
fore  them  but  a  walled  city,  which  they  must  take  or 
perish  in  the  attempt.  As  one  sees  them  creep 
ing  over  precipices,  stealing  through  the  swamps 
and  ravines,  or  hears  them  shouting  from  some  moun 
tain  top,  or  sending  up  their  hearty  cheers  from  the 
shore  of  some  smooth  lake  suddenly  opening  on  their 
view  through  the  forest,  he  is  amazed  at  the  boldness 
that  could  plan  and  the  hardihood  that  could  carry 
through  such  an  enterprise. 

At  length  this  long  carrying-place  was  surmounted, 
and  the  army  launched  their  boats  on  the  waters  of  the 
Dead  River.  This  river  receives  its  name  from  the 
silence  and  tranquillity  of  its  current.  It  moves  like 
the  waters  of  Oblivion  through  the  dark  and  motionless 
forest,  interrupted  only  at  long  intervals  by  slight  falls. 
Here  the  toil  was  less  severe,  and  the  stirring  notes 
of  the  bugle  again  woke  the  echoes  of  the  forest,  and 
the  laugh  and  cheers  of  the  men  beguiled  the  tedious- 
ness  of  the  way.  At  length  a  lofty  mountain  arose  in 
the  distance,  its  bald  top  covered  with  snow,  at  the 
sight  of  which  the  men  sent  up  a  shout.  It  was  the 
first  thing  they  had  seen  which  looked  like  freedom — as 
if  there  was  an  outer  world  to  this  pent-up  and  appa- 

VOL.   i.  14 


158  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

rently  interminable  wilderness.  Near  its  base  the  army 
encamped  for  three  days  to  rest,  and  there  Arnold 
raised  the  American  flag  over  his  tent,  and  the  soldiers 
sent  up  three  cheers  as  its  folds  swung  away  in  the 
mountain  breeze. 

Again  the  tents  were  struck,  and  the  disordered  line 
pressed  forward ;  but  scarcely  had  it  got  under  way 
before  it  began  to  rain.  Dark  and  angry  clouds  swept 
the  heavens,  pouring  an  incessant  torrent  on  the 
drenched  and  toil-worn  army,  while  the  tree-tops 
swayed  and  groaned  in  the  blast,  making  the  sombre 
wilderness  tenfold  gloomier  than  before.  For  three 
days  and  nights  it  rained  without  cessation,  till  the 
Dead  River  began  to  show  signs  of  life  and  energy. 
The  swollen  waters  went  surging  by,  but  still  the 
boats  were  urged  onward  and  upward.  But  one  night, 
just  as  the  wearied  soldiers  had  landed  and  lain  down 
on  the  wet  leaves  to  rest,  a  roar  like  that  of  the  ocean 
was  heard,  and  the  next  moment  the  sudden  flood  swept 
over  the  whole  ground  of  the  encampment.  Instantly 
all  was  confusion  :  men  hurried  about  in  the  storm  and 
darkness,  and  anxious  orders  and  shouts  and  cries  min 
gled  in  with  the  roar  of  the  torrent.  When  daylight 
broke  over  the  scene,  it  was  enough  to  fill  the  bravest 
heart  with  discouragement.  Boats  had  drifted  into  the 
forest,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  level 
ground  was  one  broad  lake,  out  of  which  rose  the  dark 
stems  of  the  trees,  like  an  endless  succession  of  columns, 
while  shattered  trunks  and  logs  went  floundering  by  on 
the  turbid  waters,  which  had  risen  eight  feet  perpen 
dicular  in  the  last  nine  hours.  But  Arnold  could  not 
wait  for  the  stream  to  subside,  for  provisions  were  get- 


DESERTED     BY     ENDS.  159 

ting  short,  and  so  he  launched  his  army  upon  its  turbu 
lent  bosom.  Through  the  half  submerged  forest  they 
pulled  and  shoved  their  boats,  until  at  length  seven, 
caught  in  the  eddying  waters,  were  upset  at  once,  and 
all  they  contained  lost.  This  disaster  reduced  still  further 
the  scanty  supply  of  provisions,  while  thirty  miles  more 
across  the  mountain  were  yet  to  be  traversed  to  reach 
the  head  of  the  Chaudiere  river.  They  had  not  yet  got 
on  the  northern  slope,  and  only  twelve  days'  provisions 
remained.  In  this  emergency  the  most  resolute  began 
to  despond,  and  a  council  of  war  was  called.  The 
army  had  now  been  a  month  out  of  sight  of  civilization, 
and  here,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  forest,  while  numbers 
overcome  by  the  hardships  were  constantly  falling 
sick,  famine  began  to  stare  them  in  the  face.  But  Ar 
nold  rose  superior  to  the  dangers  that  environed  him, 
and,  sending  back  orders  to  Colonels  Greene  and  Enos, 
commanding  the  rear  divisions,  to  select  their  strongest 
men  and  hasten  up,  leaving  the  sick  and  feeble  to  re 
turn  to  Norridgewock ;  picked  out  sixty  men  and 
pushed  forward  in  order  to  reach  the  French  settle 
ments  and  send  back  provisions. 

Colonel  Enos,  alarmed  at  the  increasing  dangers, 
instead  of  obeying  orders,  took  with  him  three  com 
panies,  and  basely  fled.  When  he  arrived  at  Cam 
bridge,  the  army  received  him  with  curses,  for  having 
left  his  companions  to  perish  in  the  wilderness.  But 
Arnold  was  made  of  sterner  stuff:  his  was  one  of  those 
terrible  natures  that  rise  with  danger — that  may  be 
broken,  but  will  never  yield.  The  only  effect  all  these 
disasters  and  increasing  difficulties  had  on  him,  was  to 
give  hts  brow  a  sterner  aspect,  and  his  voice  a  more 


160          MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

determined  tone.     With  his  sixty  men  he  toiled  slowly 
up  the  Dead  River.     The  rain  had  turned  into  snow, 
which  fell  in  a  blinding  shower,  and  the  stream  was 
filled  with  ice,  amid  which  the  men  had  to  wade  and 
force  the  boats.     Hungry,  and   cold,  and  wet,   they 
closed  around  their  iron  leader,  in  silent  courage,  and 
pressed  forward  until  finally  they  reached  the  head  of 
the  stream.      They  had  passed  seventeen  falls,  around 
which  they  had  been  compelled  to  carry  their  boats, 
and  now  it  was  four  miles  over  the  mountain,  from  the 
head  of  the  Dead  River  to  the  source  of  the  Chaudiere. 
But  they  resolutely  entered  on  their  Jieavy  task,  while 
Arnold  moved  at  their  head,  cheering  them  by  his  voice 
and  example,  and  rousing  their    drooping  spirits,  by 
promises  of  a  glorious  termination  to  all  their  toils.    At 
length  they  reached  Lake  Megantic,  in  which  the  Chau 
diere  takes  its  rise.     Here  Arnold  reduced  his  company 
to  thirteen  men,  and  leaving  nearly  all  the  provisions 
for  those  who  remained  behind,  launched  forth  on  the 
bosom  of  the  lake,  and  steered  for  the  Chaudiere.     The 
river  was  swollen  with  the  recent  rains,  and  he  and 
his  men  were  borne  with  frightful  rapidity  along  its 
boiling  current.     The  bark  canoe,  in  which  he  rode, 
danced  like  a  feather  on  the  stream,  but  he  thought  only 
of  his  army  perishing  by  famine  in  the  wilderness. 
On  the  summit  of  the  hills  that  divide  the  Kennebec  and 
the  Chaudiere,  he  had  divided  the  last  provisions  equally 
among  the  companies,  and  then  told  them  that  their  only 
safety  lay  in  advancing.    He  cheered  them  on  by  hope, 
till    there  was   no   longer    any  room    for   hope,  then 
made   despair   fight   despair.      He  thought    of  them 
and  their  trying  situation,  as  he   shot  down  the  Chau- 


REACHES     THE     CHAUDIERE.  161 

diere,  and  his  heart  was  filled  with  anxious  forebo 
dings  for  their  safety :  and  well  it  might  be,  for 
the  last  provisions  were  exhausted,  and  the  starving 
soldiers  were  roasting  dogs  far  back  in  the  wilderness, 
to  allay  the  pangs  of  hunger.  At  length  even  this 
loathsome  food  began  to  grow  scarce,  and  then  with 
wan  and  hollow  cheeks,  they  tore  off  their  moose- 
skin  moccasins  and  boiled  them  to  extract  the  little 
nourishment  they  contained.  Yet,  even  in  this  depth  of 
misery,  they  showed  themselves  worthy  of  their  leader, 
and  stretched  resolutely  forward  to  fulfill  his  orders. 
In  the  mean  time,  Arnold  and  his  few  boats  were 
shooting  like  arrows  through  the  forest  that  shut  in  the 
Chaudiere.  Without  a  guide  or  any  knowledge  of  the 
stream,  he  hurried  on,  until  one  day  about  noon  he 
suddenly  found  himself  amid  rapids.  The  boats  were 
caught  by  the  waves  and  whirled  onward  until  three 
were  dashed  against  the  rocks  and  sunk  with  all  they 
contained.  This  calamity  was  their  salvation,  for 
while  they  were  drying  their  clothes  on  shore,  a  man 
who  had  gone  ahead  suddenly  cried  out,  "  a  fall  !"  A 
cataract  was  foaming  just  below  them,  sending  its  roar 
through  the  forest.  But  for  the  upsetting  of  the  boats 
the  entire  party  would  have  gone  on  till  they  came 
within  the  suction  of  the  descending  waters,  when  no 
thing  could  have  saved  them.  Soon  after  Arnold's 
canoe  was  thrown  on  the  rocks  and  broken :  he  es 
caped,  however,  and  at  length,  on  the  fourth  day  after 
entering  Lake  Megantic,  having  traversed  nearly  ninety 
miles,  emerged  into  a  French  settlement.  A  loud  shout 
broke  from  his  little  band  as  they  once  more  saw  the 
abodes  of  civilized  men. 

14* 


162  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

Arnold's  first  thought  after  his  arrival  was  of  his  suffer 
ing  troops,  now  slowly  sinking  under  their  accumulated 
hardships.  They  had  reached  the  Chaudiere,  but  every 
boat  had  been  broken  on  the  rocks  by  the  violence  of 
the  current,  and  they  were  now  advancing  in  strag 
gling  parties  along  the  banks.  At  length  when  within 
thirty  miles  of  the  French  settlement,  the  last  food, 
even  of  the  most  loathsome  kind,  gave  out,  and  blank 
despair  settled  on  their  hearts.  But  just  then  a  shout 
was  heard  through  the  forest,  and  a  company  of  men 
appeared  with  the  provisions  which  Arnold  had  sent 
back.  In  a  few  days  the  entire  army  arrived,  having 
accomplished  one  of  the  most  remarkable  marches  on 
record.  The  world-renowned  passage  of  San  Bernard, 
by  Bonaparte,  with  twenty  thousand  men,  will  not  com 
pare  with  it.  He  had  an  open  path,  a  short  distance 
and  provisions  in  abundance.  The  great  difficulty 
was  in  the  transportation  of  the  artillery.  There  was 
no  uncertainty  about  the  way,  nothing  indeed  to  daunt 
the  soldier  but  hard  work.  True  it  was  a  large  army, 
but  he  could  subdivide  it  into  as  many  portions  as  he 
pleased,  leaving  each  to  pass  by  itself.  The  boldness 
of  the  undertaking  is  its  great  attractive  feature.  But 
San  Bernard  is  only  a  few  miles  over,  and  the  soldiers 
leaving  the  rich  valley  of  Martigny  in  the  morning, 
could  sleep  in  the  hospice  on  the  top  at  night ;  while 
here  was  an  army  of  more  than  a  thousand  men  march 
ing  for  over  forty  days  through  fearful  solitudes,  wa 
ding  streams,  climbing  mountains,  scaling  precipices, 
drenched  with  rains  and  wasted  with  toil,  enduring 
hunger,  cold,  and  famine,  and  all  to  place  a  forest  of 
two  hundred  miles  in  extent  between  them  and  safety. 


REACHES     aUEBEC.  163 

That  army  of  a  thousand  men,  in  the  heart  of  that 
wilderness,  toiling  slowly  yet  resolutely  on,  is  one  of 
the  sublimest  sights  our  history  furnishes.  Men  in  a 
retreat  may  do  such  things.  Bonaparte  fleeing  from 
Moscow,  Julian  retreating  across  the  desert  and  Su- 
warrow  over  the  Alps,  are  wonderful  events  in  hu 
man  history,  but  the  wonder  would  have  been  tenfold 
greater  had  they  encountered  these  perils  and  hard 
ships  in  marching  after  an  enemy  instead  of  fleeing 
before  one.  Men  will  dare  any  peril  in  their  path  if 
less  than  the  one  which  threatens  from  behind,  but  it  is 
quite  another  thing  to  enter  voluntarily  into  it,  and  that 
inarch  to  Quebec  is  a  standing  monument  of  the  hardi 
hood  and  boldness  of  American  soldiers,  and  of  the 
amazing  energy  and  firmness  of  Arnold's  character. 

Arnold  delayed  only  long  enough  to  rally  his  scat 
tered  troops,  then  pushed  on,  scattering  proclamations 
to  the  Canadians  as  he  went,  and  in  ten  days  drew  up 
his  little  army  on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence  oppo 
site  Quebec.  The  inhabitants  were  perfectly  stupified 
at  this  sudden  apparition  of  an  army  which  seemed  to 
have  sprung  up  out  of  the  very  ground.  That  it  should 
have  traversed  the  immense  wilderness  between  them 
and  Boston,  seemed  incredible,  and  the  most  exagge 
rated  accounts  of  the  endurance  and  power  of  the 
American  troops  spread  like  wildfire.  Had  they  been 
able  immediately  to  cross  the  river,  Quebec  would 
have  easily  fallen  into  their  hands.  But  an  Indian,  to 
whom  Arnold,  while  ascending  the  Kennebec,  had  en 
trusted  letters  to  General  Schuyler  and  a  friend  in  Que 
bec,  had  proved  a  traitor,  and  delivered  them  into  the 
hands  of  the  governor  of  the  city,  who  had  therefore 


164  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

ample  time  to  prepare  for  his  arrival,  and  remove  all 
the  boats  from  the  further  side  of  the  river.  To  com 
plete  the  disaster,  a  furious  storm  set  in,  so  that  the  army 
could  not  for  several  days  cross  in  the  bark  canoes 
they  had  been  able  to  get.  The  whole  effect  of  a  sur 
prise  was  therefore  lost.  But  Arnold,  by  his  energy 
and  resolution,  succeeded  at  length  one  night  in  trans 
porting  five  hundred  men  across  in  canoes,  before  he 
was  discovered  by  the  guard-boats  of  the  enemy.  These 
firing  on  him,  he  was  compelled  to  desist.  Undis 
mayed,  however,  he  rallied  his  five  hundred  men  on  the 
shore,  and  boldly  led  them  up  the  precipice  where 
Wolfe  sixteen  years  before  ascended  to  the  field  of  his 
fame  and  to  his  grave.  Closing  sternly  round  their  lead 
er,  these  gallant  troops  stood  at  early  dawn  in  battle  ar 
ray  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham.  It  would  have  been  mad 
ness  to  have  attempted  to  carry  the  place  by  storm, 
and  so  Arnold,  in  order  to  draw  the  garrison  forth  into 
open  combat,  led  his  men  to  within  a  hundred  and 
fifty  rods  of  the  walls,  and  ordered  them  to  give  three 
cheers.  The  thunder  of  cannon  was  the  only  answer 
to  the  shout,  and  he  was  compelled  to  withdraw.  He 
next  sent  a  summons  to  the  commander  to  surrender, 
which  was  of  course  treated  with  derision.  The  only 
course  then  left  for  him  was  to  bring  over  the  rest  of 
his  troops,  and  wait  till  Montgomery,  to  whom  he  had 
sent  a  messenger,  could  arrive.  This  was  especially 
imperative,  when,  on  examination,  he  found  that  the 
men  had  only  five  rounds  of  ammunition  apiece,  while 
a  hundred  of  the  muskets  were  unfit  for  use. 

Of  the  junction  of  the  two  armies  and  of  the  gallant 
assault  on  the  town,  and  the  bravery  and  wound  of 


RETREATS  FROM  CANADA.  165 

Arnold,  I  have  already  spoken  in  the  sketch  of  Mont 
gomery.  After  the  death  of  the  latter,  the  command 
devolved  on  Arnold,  who  resolved,  with  his  eight  hun 
dred  men,  to  remain  all  winter  round  Quebec,  and  keep 
the  blockade  of  the  city.  Reinforced  by  a  few  com 
panies  from  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire,  which  had 
arrived  in  snow-shoes  through  the  forest,  he  built  forti 
fications  of  snow,  which  gradually  hardened  into  ice, 
and  thus  passed  the  winter  with  his  troops  exposed  to 
cold,  hunger,  and  sickness.  For  his  gallant  conduct 
in  storming  Quebec,  Congress  promoted  him  to  brig 
adier-general.  When  spring  opened,  General  Tho 
mas  arrived  with  reinforcements,  and  took  the  chief 
command.  The  two  generals  did  not  agree  very 
well ;  and  Arnold,  about  this  time,  having  received  a 
severe  contusion  in  his  leg  by  his  horse  falling  upon 
it,  asked  leave  of  absence  and  went  to  Montreal. 
Here  he  found  himself  again  in  supreme  command. 
The  affair  of  the  Cedars  soon  called  him  into  the  field, 
and  he  was  forced  against  his  will,  in  order  to  save  the 
lives  of  five  hundred  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  to  agree  to  a  convention,  which  Congress  very 
justly  afterwards  refused  to  recognize,  though  without 
reflecting  at  all  on  Arnold's  conduct. 

The  subsequent  disasters  that  finally  drove  our  army 
from  the  Canadas  are  well  known.  But  Montreal  was 
the  last  place  that  yielded,  and  Arnold  the  last  man  that 
left  the  territory  of  the  enejny ;  and  then  with  an  En 
glish  army  close  at  his  heels,  made  a  masterly  retreat 
to  St.  John's,  where  he  hastily  embarked  his  men.  He 
stood  and  saw  the  last  boat  but  his  own  leave  the  shore, 
then  springing  to  his  saddle,  with  only  one  attendant, 


166  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

his  aid  Wilkinson,  galloped  back  towards  the  British 
army.  After  riding  about  two  miles  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  foremost  division  under  Burgoyne.  The  sun  was 
just  sinking  in  the  west  and  his  farewell  beams  flooded 
the  form  of  Arnold  as  he  sat  and  coolly  surveyed  the 
eager  column  pressing  rapidly  forward.  Completing 
his  survey,  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  came  back  in 
a  headlong  gallop.  Reining  up  his  steed  by  the  shore, 
he  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  stripping  off  the  saddle 
and  bridle  shot  the  noble  animal  dead  in  his  tracks  to 
prevent  his  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  and 
then,  scorning  all  assistance,  heaved  his  boat  with  his 
own  hands  from  the  beach,  and  leaping  into  it  shot  out 
into  the  lake.  Darkness  had  now  covered  the  scene, 
and  the  stars  came  out  one  by  one  in  the  sky,  guiding 
that  solitary  boat  over  the  smooth  waters.  Coming 
up  with  his  little  fleet,  he  proceeded  up  the  lake  to 
Crown  Point.  He  soon  after  went  to  Albany,  to  re 
port  to  General  Schuyler  in  detail  his  operations  for 
the  last  seven  months  in  Canada,  and  having  finished 
his  business  returned  to  Lake  Champlain. 

BATTLE    OF    VALCOUR    ISLAND. 

The  British,  in  pursuing  their  advantage,  had  con 
structed  a  fleet  at  St.  John's,  with  which  to  advance 
on  Crown  Point  and  Ticonderoga.  Every  effort  was 
made  to  repel  this  armament,  and  at  length,  after  the 
greatest  exertions,  one  sloop,  three  schooners,  and  five 
galleys  were  manned  and  placed  under  the  command 
of  Arnold.  With  these  he  set  sail  in  the  middle  of 
August,  1776,  designing  to  take  his  station  at  the  Isle- 


BATTLE     OF     VALCOUR     ISLAND.  167 

aux-Tetes,  but  finding  the  island  in  possession  of  the 
enemy,  he  stopped  at  Windmill  Point.  On  examina 
tion  he  found  this  position  disadvantageous,  so  retreated 
to  the  Isle  la  Motte,  and  finally  to  Valcour  Island, 
where  he  determined  to  make  a  stand.  He  had  re 
ceived  some  reinforcements,  so  that  his  little  fleet  now 
consisted  of  three  schooners,  two  sloops,  three  galleys, 
and  eight  gondolas  as  they  were  called,  carrying  in 
all  seventy  guns,  many  of  them  eighteen  pounders. 
Valcour  Island  lies  somewhat  parallel  to  the  shore,  and 
so  nearly  connected  with  it  at  the  northern  extremity, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  pass  between  even  in  small  vessels. 
Thus  a  deep  channel  is  formed  between  it  and  the  main 
land,  opening  towards  the  south.  In  the  upper  end  of 
this,  Arnold  moored  his  fleet,  and  hence  was  entirely 
concealed  from  the  enemy  until  they  had  passed  be 
yond  him  up  the  lake.  He  had  completely  shut  him 
self  in,  so  that  when  the  British  closed  upon  him,  there 
would  be  no  getting  away  but  through  their  ships.  He 
thus  secured  two  objects — first,  the  cooperation  of  every 
one  of  his  vessels,  and  secondly,  prevented  himself  from 
being  outflanked,  for  his  line  of  battle  extended  from 
the  island  to  the  shore.  He  had  not  waited  long  in 
this  position  before  the  British  fleet  hove  in  sight,  sail 
ing  down  before  the  wind.  As  it  rounded  the  south 
ern  point  of  the  island  Arnold's  boats  were  discovered, 
when  hauling  close  to  the  wind,  it  bore  up  and  hemmed 
him  completely  in.  The  fleet  consisted  of  one  ship, 
two  schooners,  two  gondolas,  twenty  gun-boats,  four 
long-boats,  and  forty-four  smaller  boats,  containing  in 
all  seven  hundred  chosen  seamen,  and  carrying  ninety 
three  guns,  some  of  them  of  heavy  calibre.  Over 


168  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

seventy  vessels  and  boats  in  all,  gathered  like  birds  of 
prey  around  the  mouth  of  this  channel.  Arnold  saw 
at  a  glance  that  nothing  but  determined  bravery  could 
overcome  this  immense  superiority  of  force  ;  indeed  it 
seemed  that  nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  him. 

It  was  the  eleventh  of  October,  one  of  those  sweet 
autumnal  days,  when  the  gentle  wind  creeps  over  the 
water,  just  stirring  it  into  dimples.  Arnold  determined 
to  take  advantage  of  the  wind,,  and  attack  some  of 
the  foremost  boats,  before  the  larger  vessels  could 
beat  up  to  their  aid.  Ordering  the  schooner  Royal 
Savage  and  three  galleys  to  get  under  way,  he  advanced 
and  opened  his  fire,  but  was  gradually  forced  back  by 
the  superior  strength  of  the  enemy,  and  returned  to  the 
line.  In  this  manoeuvre  the  Royal  Savage  went  ashore 
and  was  abandoned.  At  noon,  the  British  having 
brought  one  schooner  and  all  their  gun-boats  within 
musket  shot  of  the  Americans,  the  battle  became  gen 
eral.  Arnold,  in  the  Congress  galley,  anchored  himself 
in  the  hottest  part  of  the  fire,  and  never  left  his  po 
sition.  A  large  body  of  Indians  on  shore,  kept  up 
a  constant  blaze  with  their  rifles,  while  between  the 
island  and  main-land  were  two  parallel  lines  of  fire. 
The  peaceful  lake  trembled  like  a  frightened  thing  to  the 
tremendous  explosions,  as  nearly  a  hundred  and  sixty 
cannon  thundered  at  once  over  the  water.  The  deafen 
ing  roar  was  heard  even  at  Ticonderoga,  filling  the  hearts 
of  the  garrison  with  anxious  forebodings. 

The  light  clouds  trooping  over  the  sky — the  quiet  nook 
in  which  the  fleet  lay  at  anchor — the  embosoming  forest 
— the  crowds  of  shouting,  swarthy  savages  on  the  shore, 
all  added  strange  interest  to  the  scene,  and  that  October 


T  H  E     B  A  T  T  L  E  .  1 69 

sun,  as  it  rolled  towards  the  western  hills,  looked  down 
on  as  brave  a  battle  as  was  ever  fought.  The  smoke, 
lifted  by  the  north  wind,  rolled  sluggishly  up  the  lake, 
leaving  open  and  unobscnred  the  contending  fleets,  as 
they  thus  lay  and  vomited  forth  fire  on  each  other. 
The'  Congress  and  Washington  galleys  received  the 
weight  of  the  shock.  Arnold,  in  the  former,  with 
two  eighteen-pounders,  two  twelves,  and  six  sixes, 
fought  like  a  desperado.  Seeing  the  dreadful  odds 
against  him,  and  maddened  at  the  thought  of  defeat,  he 
seemed,  to  scoff  at  death.  Cheering  on  his  men  by  his 
thrilling  words,  and  still  more  by  his  fierce  courage, 
he  maintained  the  fight  hour  after  hour,  with  a  tenacity 
that  nothing  seemed  able  to  shake.  With  his  vessel 
riddled  through  and  through,  and  filled  with  the  dead, 
he  still  maintained  his  ground.  Having  no  good  en 
gineers,  he  pointed  his  own  guns,  and  multiplied  him 
self  with  the  dangers  that  encompassed  him.  Now,  cast 
ing  his  stern  eye  along  his  line  of  shattered  boats,  and 
now  along  his  heated  cannon,  to  make  the  shots  tell — 
blackened  with  powder  and  smoke,  he  bore  up  for  five 
mortal  hours  in  the  driving  tempest.  The  water  was 
churned  into  foam  around  him  by  the  raining  balls — 
his  main-mast  had  been  struck  twice,  his  rigging  was 
'cut  into  fragments — he  had  received  seven  shots  be 
tween  wind  and  water,  and  been  hulled  twelve  times  ; 
yet,  still  he  refused  to  stir,  and  seemed  resolved  to  sink 
at  his  anchors.  A  more  gallant  crew  never  rallied 
around  a  brave  commander ;  and  though  thinned  and 
wasted,  stood  ready  to  go  down  at  their  post. 

But  night  coming  on,  the  British  withdrew  their 
forces,  and  after  dark  stretched  their  vessels  in  one  line 

VOL.  i.  15 


170  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

from  the  island  to  the  shore,  to  prevent  the  retreat  of 
the  Americans,  whom  they  now  considered  completely 
in  their  power.  Arnold,  however,  had  no  thought  of 
surrendering,  and  after  a  short  consultation  with  his 
officers,  resolved  to  pass  through  the  enemy's  fleet  and 
sail  for  Crown  Point.  So  after  dark  he  got  his  crip 
pled  vessels,  that  is,  all  that  were  left,  one  schooner  and 
one  gondola  being  wrecked,  and  set  sail.  The  wind 
had  luckily  changed,  and  each  vessel,  with  a  single 
light  in  the  stern  to  guide  the  one  that  followed,  passed 
in  silent  succession  through  the  British  line  without 
being  discovered.  It  was  skilfully,  bravely  done,  and 
the  released  little  fleet  bore  steadily  away  up  the  lake 
till  it  reached  Schuyler's  Island,  where  it  was  compelled 
to  lay  at  anchor  half  a  day  in  order  to  stop  leaks  and 
repair  damages.  Two  of  the  gondolas  being  found  too 
much  crippled  to  proceed,  were  here  sunk.  In  the  after 
noon  they  again  weighed  anchor,  but  the  wind  had 
now  changed  to  the  south,  and  they  could  make  but 
little  headway.  The  next  morning  a  dense  fog  lay  on  the 
lake,  blotting  even  the  shores  from  view,  but  as  the  sun 
rose,  it  lifted  and  rolled  gently  away  before  the  morning 
breeze,  revealing  the  whole  British  fleet  within  a  few 
miles  of  them.  In  a  few  moments  a  cloud  of  canvas 
was  moving  slowly  down  upon  them,  presenting  a 
beautiful  appearance  in  the  rising  sun.  Arnold's  gal 
ley,  together  with  the  Washington  and  four  gondolas, 
were  so  disabled  that  they- had  fallen  astern  during  the 
night,  while  the  rest  of  the  fleet,  now  barely  discernible 
in  the  distance,  was  crowding  all  sail  for  Crown  Point. 
On  these  disabled  vessels  the  whole  force  of  the  enemy 
now  advanced.  At  the  first  broadside,  the  Washington 


SECOND     BATTLE.  171 

shamefully  struck,  and  Arnold  in  his  riddled  galley, 
with  only  four  gondolas,  was  left  to  meet  the  shock 
alone.  To  fight  seemed  utterly  useless,  nay,  madness 
itself,  but  he  had  never  yet  learned  the  word  surrender, 
and  so  gathered  his  few  boats  around  him  and  opened 
the  battle.  A  ship  of  eighteen  guns,  two  schooners, 
one  of  fourteen  and  another  of  twelve,  making  in  all 
forty-four  guns,  poured  at  once  their  concentrated  and 
destructive  fire  upon  his  single  vessel.  Shattered  so 
dreadfully  from  its  former  engagement,  and  enveloped 
in  such  a  destructive  fire,  that  poor  galley  seemed 
hardly  worth  a  hope.  But  its  brave  commander  cast 
a  look  of  stern  defiance  on  his  foe  as  the  first  broadside 
thundered  over  the  water,  then  pointing  his  own  guns, 
closed  fiercely  in  with  him.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  excitement  of  the  conflict  at  this  moment.  That 
single  galley,  too  crippled  to  fly  and  too  proud  to  sur 
render,  enveloped  by  her  foes,  keeping  her  flag  flying 
amid  the  smoke  and  carnage,  was  one  of  the  sublimest 
sights  the  eye  ever  rested  upon.  Beneath  those  heavy 
and  concentrated  broadsides  she  trembled  from  stem 
to  stern,  and  reeled  and  rocked  on  the  water  ;  but  when 
the  smoke  lifted,  there  still  floated  the  flag,  and  beneath 
its  folds  stood  Arnold,  the  impersonation  of  calm  cou 
rage  and  heroic  daring.  The  planks  were  splitting 
about  him,  and  the  splinters  of  the  shivered  timbers 
flying  through  the  air  on  every  side,  yet  he  still  main 
tained  the  fight.  Thus  hour  after  hour  he  struggled  in 
this  unequal  contest,  until  at  length  other  boats  of  the 
enemy  arrived,  and  advanced  to  the  attack.  With 
seven  vessels  around  him,  hemming  him  in  and  pouring 
in  broadside  after  broadside,  he  still  disdained  to  sur- 


172          MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

render.  In  the  very  centre  of  this  fleet,  covering  him 
with  a  cloud  of  canvas,  and  drawing  their  circle  of 
fire  nearer  and  nearer  every  moment,  he  stood  like  a 
tiger  at  bay.  For  four  terrible  hours  he  had  continued 
this  unequal  combat,  and  now  a  perfect  wreck,  he  saw 
his  vessel  must  inevitably  be  lost.  But  scorning  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  he  put  forth  one  of  those 
great  and  desperate  efforts  for  which  he  was  remarkable, 
and  breaking  fiercely  through  the  ships,  run  his  galley 
and  four  gondolas  ashore  in  a  small  creek  and  set  fire  to 
them.  He  then  ordered  the  marines  to  leap  overboard, 
musket  in  hand,  and  wade  to  the  beach,  and  there  fire  on 
the  small  boats  if  they  ventured  to  approach.  For  him 
self  he  remained  all  alone  aboard  his  burning  galley,  with 
his  flags  flying  over  his  head.  Enveloped  in  smoke,  he 
stood  and  watched  the  fierce  flames  as  they  gained  on 
the  vessel,  until  they  had  advanced  too  far  to  be  extin 
guished,  and  then  sprung  into  the  water  and  joined  his 
men  on  shore.  There  never  was  a  more  gallant 
achievement  performed  than  this,  or  a  nobler  exhibi 
tion  of  courage  and  daring.  A  more  thrilling  subject 
for  the  painter  cannot  be  conceived  than  that  galley 
presents  amid  the  broadsides  of  her  foes  or  wrapped  in 
flames  with  her  flags  flying  and  Arnold  on  her  slippery 
deck,  while  the  guns  of  the  enemy  are  still  thundering 
on  her  mangled  form.  With  a  smile  of  proud  defiance 
on  his  lip  as  he  gazes  off  on  the  baffled  enemy,  and  his 
brow  knit  like  iron  in  stern  resolve,  he  presents  a  pic 
ture  on  which  it  grieves  us  he  should  ever  have  cast 
such  a  dreadful  shadow.  One  third  of  the  entire  num 
ber  he  had  on  board  his  vessel  had  fallen,  showing  how 
severely  he  had  suffered.  The  country  rung  with  his 


WRONGED     BY     CONGRESS.  173 

praises,  and  his  brilliant  achievements  were  in  every 
man's  mouth. 

Arnold  had  beached  his  boats  within  ten  miles  of 
Crown  Point,  whither  he  led  in  safety  that  night,  by  a 
bridle-path,  his  weary,  wounded,  gallant  band.  If  he 
had  gone  the  more  open  road  he  must  have  perished, 
for  a  large  party  of  Indians  were  waiting  in  ambush 
for  him.  From  thence  he  proceeded  to  Ticonderoga ; 
and  Crown  Point  soon  after  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
English,  but  proved  to  be  a  barren  prize. 

A  large  portion  of  the  troops  at  Ticonderoga  were 
now  ordered  to  the  Jerseys  to  join  the  army  under 
Washington.  Arnold  accompanied  them,  and  arrived 
at  head-quarters  a  week  previous  to  the  battle  of 
Trenton.  But  he  had  been  only  three  days  in  camp  be 
fore  he  was  ordered  to  the  eastern  portion  of  the  army 
at  Providence.  Here  he  passed  the  winter  of  1777, 
making  preparations  with  Spencer  to  raise  militia  and 
attack  Rhode  Island.  At  this  time  occurred  an  event 
that  first  made  him  speak  in  terms  of  bitterness  of  his 
country.  Congress  created  five  new  major-generals 
without  including  him  in  the  number.  To  make  mat 
ters  still  worse,  these  appointments  were  all  filled  by 
officers  who  were  his  juniors  in  rank,  and  one  of  them, 
General  Lincoln,  was  chosen  from  the  militia.  This 
was  an  outrageous  insult  on  the  part  of  Congress,  and 
an  act  of  the  grossest  injustice,  the  real  excuse  for 
which  constitutes  its  greatest  guilt.  It  fell  like  a  thun 
derbolt  on  Arnold,  who  could  not  comprehend  the  mo 
tive  for  this  public  condemnation  of  him.  Washington 
was  astonished  and  distressed  when  he  heard  of  it, 
and  immediately  wrote  to  him,  begging  him  not  to  do 
15* 


174  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

anything  hastily,  assuring  him  that  there  must  be  some 
mistake  about  it,  which  would  be  rectified.  His  reply 
was  noble,  and  if  we  could  separate  it  from  his  after 
treason,  would  appear  so  to  every  just  mind.  Said 
he  :  "  Congress  undoubtedly  have  a  right  of  promoting 
those  whom,  from  their  abilities  and  their  long  and 
arduous  services,  they  esteem  most  deserving.  Their 
promoting  junior  officers  to  the  rank  of  major-generals 
I  view  as  a  very  civil  way  of  requesting  my  resigna 
tion,  as  unqualified  for  the  office  I  hold.  My  commission 
was  conferred  unsolicited,  and  received  with  pleasure 
only  as  a  means  of  serving  my  country.  With  equal 
pleasure  I  resign  it,  when  I  can  no  longer  serve  my 
country  with  honor.  The  person  who,  void  of  the  nice 
feelings  of  honor,  will  tamely  condescend  to  give  up 
his  right,  and  retain  a  commission  at  the  expense  of  his 
reputation,  I  hold  as  a  disgrace  to  the  army,  and  un 
worthy  of  the  glorious  cause  in  which  we  are  engaged." 
He  then  goes  on  to  request  a  court  of  inquiry;  and 
though  feeling  the  ingratitude  of  his  countrymen,  ex 
presses  a  willingness  again  to  bleed  as  freely  in  their 
behalf  as  he  had  already  done.  He  was  right,  and 
would  have  been  perfectly  justified  in  throwing  up  his 
commission  and  retiring  from  the  army.  Washington 
would  have  done  it  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Arnold,  however,  refrained  for  a  while,  at  the  earnest 
request  of  the  commander-in-chief,  who  promised  that 
the  wrong  should  be  redressed,  and  immediately  wrote 
to  members  of  Congress  for  an  explanation  of  this 
strange  proceeding.  The  reason  given  was  good  for 
nothing,  and  Washington  gave  Arnold  to  understand  that 
he  regarded  it  so.  The  latter,  chagrined  and  humbled — 


BRAVERY     AT     RIDGEFIELD.  175 

and  then  again  in  his  reflecting  moments,  as  he  thought 
of  the  wilderness,  of  Quebec,  and  Lake  Champlain,  fu 
rious  with  rage,  resolved  to  proceed  in  person  to  Con 
gress  and  demand  an  investigation  of  his  conduct  On 
his  way,  he  passed  through  Connecticut,  just  after  the 
burning  of  Danbury  by  two  thousand  British  troops 
under  Governor  Tryon.  Instantly  forgetting  his  wrongs 
and  his  mission,  he  joined  Generals  Silliman  and  Woos- 
ter,  who,  with  six  hundred  men,  were  following  after 
the  enemy.  With  two  hundred  of  these,  Wooster  was 
to  harass  them  in  rear,  while  Silliman  and  Arnold,  by 
a  rapid  circuitous  march,  should  get  in  advance  and 
give  them  battle.  Wooster  overtaking  the  enemy,  be 
gan  a  furious  attack,  when  a  sudden  discharge  of  artil 
lery  and  musketry  arrested  his  men.  Hastening  to 
the  front,  he  cried  out,  "  Come  on,  my  boys  !  never 
mind  such  random  shot,"  but  the  words  had  scarcely 
left  his  mouth,  before  a  ball  entered  his  side,  and  he  was 
borne  off  mortally  wounded. 

In  the  mean  time  Arnold,  reinforced  by  a  hundred 
militia,  had  gained  the  front,  and  posted  himself  at 
Ridgefield  in  a  narrow  part  of  the  road,  with  a  ledge 
of  rocks  on  one  side  and  a  barn  on  the  other.  Across 
the  road  he  piled  carts  and  wagons,  and  logs  as  a  bar 
ricade,  and  placed  his  men  behind  them. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  rolling  of 
drums  announced  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  and  the 
next  moment  the  head  of  the  column  appeared  in 
sight,  as  it  marched  in  close  array  along  the  street. 
As  it  advanced  towards  the  barricade,  the  artillery 
opened,  answered  by  the  small  arms  of  the  Americans. 
It  was  five  hundred  militia  against  two  thousand  disci- 


176  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

plined  troops,  but  Arnold  had  fought  against  even 
greater  odds,  and  aroused  and  encouraged  his  men  to 
resistance  with  his  wonted  bravery.  He  held  his  un 
tried  militia  to  this  unequal  contest  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  but  at  length  seeing  he  was  outflanked,  allowed 
them  to  retreat.  But  he  remained  behind,  with  his 
accustomed  recklessness,  and  was  sitting  on  his  horse 
watching  the  movements  of  the  enemy,  when  a  platoon 
of  soldiers,  who  had  climbed  up  the  rocks,  and  now 
stood  nearly  over  his  'head,  deliberately  fired  on  him. 
His  horse  sunk  in  his  tracks,  and  he  with  him.  But 
instead  of  springing  to  his  feet  and  extricating  him 
self,  he  quietly  sat  on  his  dying  steed,  which,  after 
struggling  vainly  to  rise,  struck  out  convulsively  in 
his  last  agony.  One  of  the  soldiers  looked  a  moment 
to  see  him  fall,  and  finding  he  did  not,  rushed  down 
upon  him  with  the  bayonet.  Arnold  still  sitting  on 
his  fallen  horse,  watched  him  with  a  cool  and  steady 
eye  as  he  advanced,  waiting  till  he  was  sure  of  his 
aim,  then  deliberately  drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster, 
and  shot  him  dead.  He  could  have  escaped  before, 
but  evidently  enraged  at  the  attempt  to  kill  him,  he  de 
termined  to  avenge  himself  before  he  fled  ;  for,  no 
sooner  did  the  soldier  drop,  than  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  joined  his  troops.  Rallying  them  anew,  he  hurried 
them  on  to  the  attack.  All  this  and  the  next  day,  he 
hung  like  an  avenging  angel  on  the  flying  traces  of  the 
enemy.  He  would  gallop  ahead  of  his  men  to  en 
courage  them,  and  again  and  again  rode  amid  the 
fire,  as  if  he  were  impervious  to  bullets.  Once  as  he 
pressed  on  in  advance  of  his  troops  to  animate  their 
courage,  his  horse  was  shot  through  the  neck,  and  fell 


APPOINTED     MAJOR     GENERAL.  177 

under  him.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  he  mounted 
another,  and  again  rode  into  the  vollies,  and  never  re 
laxed  his  efforts  till  the  troops  were  driven  aboard 
their  ships. 

This  gallant  conduct  was  better  than  all  personal  ap 
plication,  and  Congress  immediately  conferred  on  him 
the  rank  of  major-general.  But  this  extorted  justice  was 
only  another  means  of  irritating  and  maddening  this 
strange  and  fiery-hearted  being ;  for  while  with  one  hand 
Congress  gave  him  the  title  of  major-general,  with  the 
other  it  withheld  his  proper  rank,  and  still  kept  him  under 
his  five  juniors.  This  was  one  way  of  converting  a  pro 
motion  into  a  disgrace,  and  was  insulting  as  it  was  unjust. 
Washington  viewed  it  in  the  same  light  that  Arnold 
did,  for  it  reminded  him  of  a  similar  act  of  the  Gover 
nor  of  Maryland,  when  he  wished  him  to  join  Brad- 
dock's  army  as  captain,  with  the  rank  of  colonel. 
Congress  placed  Arnold  precisely  in  the  same  position, 
and  that  too,  directly  after  he  had  periled  his  life  anew 
for  his  country.  But  for  Washington  he  would  have 
resented  this  insult  by  immediate  resignation,  but  the 
former,  anxious  to  retain  so  efficient  an  officer  in  the 
service,  used  every  means  to  appease  him,  and  finally, 
to  show  his  condemnation  of  the  act  of  Congress,  gave 
him  command  of  the  army  on  the  North  River.  He 
finally  obtained  a  hearing  at  the  Board  of  War,  which 
pronounced  all  the  accusations  against  him  false,  and 
declared  that  he  had  been  "  cruelly  arid  groundlessly 
aspersed."  Congress  confirmed  this  report,  yet  still 
refused  to  restore  his  rank. 

Soon  after  he  was  sent  to  command  the  army  around 
Philadelphia.  Having  fulfilled  the  task  assigned  him, 


178  1VJAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

he  was  ordered  at  Washington's  request  to  the  north. 
The  latter  knew  that  a  decisive  battle  would  soon  be 
fought  between  the  northern  army  and  Burgoyne,  and 
though  he  wished  Arnold  near  him,  he  felt  that  his  ser 
vices  were  still  more  needed  by  Gates.  Said  he,  in  his 
letter  to  Congress  respecting  the  appointment,  "  He  is 
active,  judicious,  and  brave,  and  an  officer  in  whom  the 
militia  will  repose  great  confidence."  This  was  true  ; 
by  his  daring  and  personal  bravery  he  turned  volunteers 
in  a  moment  into  veterans,  and  they  would  follow  him 
joyously  where  no  commander  could  drive  them. 

Arnold,  still  showing  a  moderation  that  exalted  him, 
and  a  magnanimity  which  was  thrown  away  on  Con 
gress,  postponed  still  farther  his  resignation,  and  ac 
cepted  the  appointment,  though  it  placed  him  under 
the  orders  of  one  of  those  same  junior  generals  who 
had  been  promoted  over  him.  This  must  have  been  a 
great  humiliation  to  one  of  his  proud  temper,  yet  he 
submitted  to  it,  and  generously  said  he  would  do  his 
duty  in  the  rank  assigned  him,  and  trust  to  the  honor 
of  Congress  to  grant  him  justice  in  the  end.  Vain 
hope  ;  even  though  he  shed  his  blood  like  water,  his 
enemies  were  too  powerful,  and  their  influence  was 
felt  too  near  the  head  of  government. 

Joining  the  army  at  Fort  Edward  under  Schuyler, 
he  retreated  with  him  to  Stillwater.  Here  he  received 
word  that  Congress  had  voted  on  the  question  of  his 
rank,  and  decided  against  him  by  a  large  majority. 
This  seemed  like  cold-blooded  revenge,  and  coming  as 
it  did  right  on  the  top  of  his  own  magnanimous  con 
duct  and  generous  self-sacrifice,  was  too  great  an  out 
rage  to  be  overlooked,  and  he  asked  permission  of  Gen- 


RELIEVES      FORT     SCHUYLER.  179 

eral  Schuyler  to  retire  from  the  army.  But  the  latter, 
like  Washington,  knew  how  to  appreciate  his  services, 
and  immediately  began  to  persuade  him  to  remain,  and 
what  now  seems  strange,  used  as  the  strongest  argu 
ment  the  absolute  need  the  country  just  then  stood  in 
of  his  aid.  He  appealed  to  his  patriotism,  and  success 
fully,  for  Arnold  consented  to  remain  only  till  the  im 
mediate  danger  wras  over.  In  the  mean  time,  news 
arrived  of  the  battle  of  Oriskany,  the  defeat  and  death 
of  General  Herkimer,  and  the  danger  of  the  garri 
son.  Eight  hundred  men  were  hastily  despatched  to 
its  aid,  and  Arnold  volunteered  to  command  them. 
Arriving  at  Herkimer  Flats,  he  found  that  he  could 
muster  in  all  only  about  a  thousand  troops,  while  at 
least  seventeen  hundred  British  and  Indians  invested 
Fort  Schuyler.  In  this  strait  he  had  recourse  to  strat 
agem.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Cuyler  was  taken  as  a 
spy  and  brought  before  him,  when,  after  ascertaining  his 
guilt,  he  promised  to  pardon  him  if  he  would  return  to 
the  enemy  and  give  such  an  exaggerated  account  of  the 
American  forces  as  to  frighten  the  Indians  into  a  retreat. 
He  accepted  the  proposal,  and  his  brother  was  re 
tained  as  hostage.  The  stratagem  succeeded — the 
Indians  took  fright  and  fled,  and  the  garrison  was  re 
lieved.  If  this  failed,  he  had  determined  with  his  lit 
tle  band  to  storm  the  enemy's  camp  and  cut  his  way 
through  to  the  garrison. 

Returning  after  an  absence  of  twenty  days,  he  joined 
Gates'  army  a  short  time  before  the  battle  of  Saratoga. 
He  commanded  the  left  division  at  this  time,  and  Gates 
the  right.  On  the  19th  of  September  it  was  reported 
that  portions  of  Burgoyne's  army  were  within  two 


180  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOL*D. 

miles  of  the  American  lines.  Arnold  immediately 
urged  on  Gates  the  necessity  of  marching  out  against 
them.  The  latter,  after  much  importunity,  consented, 
and  a  sanguinary  conflict  followed.  The  battle  lasted 
from  noon  till  night,  and  was  fought,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  single  regiment,  by  Arnold's  division  alone. 
He  showed  himself  on  this  occasion  an  able  officer  as 
well  as  impetuous  warrior,  and  met  and  baffled  every 
manoeuvre  of  Burgoyne  with  a  skill  and  courage  that 
extorted  praise  from  his  enemies.  While  the  latter  was 
attempting,  under  cover  of  the  woods,  to  turn  his  flank 
and  fall  on  him  in  rear,  he,  endeavoring  to  execute  a 
similar  manoeuvre,  met  the  detachment,  and  a  fierce. en 
counter  took  place.  Mounted  on  a  grey  horse,  he  was 
everywhere  seen,  encouraging  his  men,  and  hurrying 
them  on  to  the  charge,  and  following  up  his  success  with 
such  rapidity  and  energy  that  he  threatened  to  cut  the 
English  lines  in  two.  The  impetuosity  of  the  Ameri 
cans  bore  down  everything  before  them,  and  they  were 
on  the  point  of  sweeping  the  field,  when  a  reinforce 
ment  arrived  and  arrested  their  progress.  Arnold,  in 
the  mean  time,  had  hurried  off  to  Gates,  who  never 
once  rode  on  to  the  field  of  battle.  While  there,  he 
heard  that  his  troops  were  still  unsuccessful.  "  I  will 
soon  put  an  end  to  it,"  said  he,  in  his  fierce  determined 
manner,  and  put  spurs  to  his  horse.  He  would  no 
doubt  have  kept  his  word,  had  not  Gates  called  him 
back.  Night  ended  the  conflict,  and  the  two  armies 
lay  down  to  sleep. 

After  this  a  quarrel  arose  between  the  two  command 
ers.  Arnold  complained,  and  justly,  that  a  part  of  his 
division  had  been  taken  from  his  command  without  his 


QUARREL     WITH     GATES.  181 

knowledge,  and  that  he  had  the  mortification  of  giving 
orders  without  having  them  obeyed.  This  uncourteous 
treatment  on  the  part  of  Gates,  to  please  his  officious 
aid,  Wilkinson,  was  followed  by  an  act  equally  unjust 
and  infinitely  more  contemptible.  In  his  official  report 
to  Congress,  he  refrained  from  saying  one  word  in 
praise  of  Arnold  or  of  his  division,  and  represented  the 
battle  as  having  been  fought  by  detachments  from  the 
main  army.  This  roused  the  latter,  who  declared  that 
it  was  as  ungenerous  to  the  brave  troops  who  bled  that 
day  as  it  was  to  their  commander ;  and  said,  and  justly, 
that  had  his  division  shamefully  fled,  Gates  would  have 
been  very  careful  that  his  own  division  should  not  have 
borne  the  disgrace.  High  words  passed  between  them, 
and  a  correspondence  followed,  full  of  pride  and  con 
ceit  on  the  part  of  Gates,  and  fierce  and  defiant  on  the 
part  of  Arnold.  There  has  been  much  said  about  this 
quarrel,  and  many  explanations  given,  but  it  is  evident 
that  it  grew  entirely  out  of  the  envy  and  injustice  of 
Gates.  The  whole  army  gave  Arnold  and  his  division 
all  the  credit  of  the  battle  of  the  19th,  and  so  did  the 
country ;  which  galled  and  soured  the  former  exceed 
ingly.  To  crown  his  injustice  and  meanness,  he  took 
Arnold's  division  away  from  him  and  gave  it  to  General 
Lincoln,  so  that  when  the  second  battle  of  the  7th  of 
Oct  oer  occurred,  he,  the  best  and  bravest,  and  most 
su<" oessful  general  in  the  army,  was  without  a  command. 
This  outrage  was  enough  to  madden  a  less  stormy  na 
ture  than  his,  and  he  immediately  demanded  a  pass 
port  to  Washington.  It  was  granted;  but  on  a  second 
thought  he  concluded  it  would  have  an  ugly  look  to 
leave  the  army  on  the  eve  of  an  important  engagement, 
VOL.  i.  IB 


182  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

and  resolved  to  remain.  He  was  in  the  camp  when  the 
cannonading  of  the  7th  of  October  commenced,  and 
listened,  one  may  guess  with  what  feelings,  to  the  roar 
of  battle,  which  was  ever  music  to  his  stormy  nature. 
As  the  thunder  of  artillery  shook  the  ground  on  which 
he  stood,  followed  by  the  sharp  rattle  of  musketry,  his 
impatience  and  excitement  could  be  no  longer  re 
strained.  He  walked  about  in  the  greatest  agitation — 
now  pausing  to  listen  to  the  din  of  war,  and  now  watch 
ing  the  fiercely  ascending  volumes  of  smoke  that  told 
where  the  fight  was  raging.  Ah  !  who  can  tell  what 
gloomy  thoughts  and  fierce  purposes  of  revenge  were 
then  and  there  born  in  his  maddened  soul— it  is  terrible 
to  drive  the  brave  to  despair.  The  hero  of  Quebec, 
Champlain,  and  Ridgefield,  to  whom  the  headlong 
charge  and  perilous  march  were  a  delight,  who  panted 
like  a  war-horse  for  the  conflict,  was  here  doomed  by  an 
inefficient  commander  to  remain  inactive.  His  brave 
followers  were  rushing  on  death  without  him,  and 
sudden  resolves  and  overwhelming  emotions  kept  up 
such  a  tumult  in  his  bosom,  that  his  excitement  at 
length  amounted  almost  to  madness. 

FLIES    TO    THE    BATTLE-FIELD. 

Unable  longer  to  restrain  his  impulses,  he  called  like 
the  helpless  Augereau  for  his  horse.  Vaulting  to  the 
saddle,  he  rode  for  a  while  around  the  camp  in  a  tem 
pest  of  passion.  At  length  a  heavy  explosion  of  artil 
lery,  making  the  earth  tremble  beneath  him,  burst  on 
his  ear.  He  paused  a  moment  and  leaned  over  his 
saddle-bow,  then  plunging  his  rowels  up  to  the  gaffs  in 


SECOND     BATTLE     OF     SARATOGA.  183 

his  horse,  launched  like  a  thunderbolt  away.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  beautiful  dark  Spanish  mare,  named  War 
ren  after  the  hero  of  Bunker  Hill,  worthy  such  a  rider, 
and  which  bore  him  like  the  wind  into  the  battle. 

It  was  told  to  Gates  that  Arnold  had  gone  to  the 
field,  and  he  immediately  sent  Col.  Armstrong  after 
him.  But  Arnold  expecting  this,  and  determined  not 
to  be  called  back  as  he  had  been  before,  spurred  furi 
ously  amid  the  ranks,  and  as  the  former  approached  him 
galloped  into  the  vollies,  and  thus  the  chase  was  kept  up 
for  half  an  hour,  until  at  length  Armstrong  gave  it  up, 
and  the  fierce  chieftain  had  it  all  his  own  way.  Goaded 
by  rage  and  dfsappointment  almost  into  insanity,  he  evi 
dently  was  resolved  to  throw  away  his  life,  and  end  at 
once  his  troubles  and  his  career.  Where  the  shot  fell 
thickest,  there  that  black  steed  was  seen  plunging 
through  the  smoke,  and  where  death  reaped  down  the 
brave  fastest,  there  his  shout  was  heard  ringing  over  the 
din  and  tumult.  He  was  no  longer  the  cool  and  skilful 
officer,  but  the  headlong  warrior  reckless  of  life.  His 
splendid  horse  was  flecked  with  foam,  and  it  seemed 
impossible  that  his  rider  could  long  survive  amid  the 
fire  through  which  he  so  wildly  galloped.  Some  of  the 
officers  thought  him  intoxicated,  so  furious  and  vehe 
ment  were  his  movements,  and  so  thrilling  his  shout,  as 
with  his  sword  sweeping  in  fiery  circles  about  his  head 
he  summoned  his  followers  to  the  charge.  Once,  wish 
ing  to  go  from  one  extremity  of  the  line  to  the  other, 
instead  of  passing  behind  his  troops,  he  wheeled  in 
front  and  galloped  the  whole  distance  through  the 
cross-fire  of  the  combatants,  while  a  long  huzza  followed 
him.  Holding  the  highest  rank  on  the  field,  his  orders 


184  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

were  obeyed,  except  when  too  desperate  for  the  bravest 
to  fulfil — and  receiving  no  orders  himself,  he  conducted 
the  whole  battle.  His  frenzied  manner,  exciting  ap 
peals,  and  fearful  daring,  infused  new  spirit  into  the 
troops,  and  they  charged  after  him,  shouting  like  mad 
men.  So  perfectly  beside  himself  was  he  with  ex 
citement,  that  he  dashed  up  to  an  officer  who  did  not 
lead  on  his  men  as  he  wished,  and  opened  his  head 
with  his  sword.  He  was  every  where  present,  and 
pushed  the  first  line  of  the  enemy  so  vigorously  that  it 
at  length  gave  way.  Burgoyne  moving  up  his  right 
wing  to  cover  its  retreat,  he  hurled  three  regiments 
with  such  terrible  impetuosity  upon  it,  that  it  also  broke 
and  fled.  While  the  British  officers  were  making  des 
perate  efforts  in  other  parts  of  the  field  to  stay  the  re 
versed  tide  of  battle,  he  pressed  on  after  Burgoyne — 
storming  over  the  batteries,  and  clearing  every  obsta 
cle,  till  at  length  he  forced  him  and  the  whole  army 
back  into  their  camp.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  he  pre 
pared  to  storm  the  camp  also.  But  once  behind  their 
intrenchments,  the  British  rallied  and  fought  with  the 
fury  of  men  struggling  for  life.  The  grape-shot  and 
balls  swept  every  inch  of  the  ground,  and  it  rained  an 
iron  tempest  on  the  American  ranks,  but  nothing  could 
resist  their  fiery  valor.  On,  on  they  swept  in  the  track 
of  their  leader,  carrying  every  thing  before  them. 
The  sun  had  now  sunk  in  the  west,  and  night  was 
drawing  its  mantle  over  the  scene.  Arnold,  enraged 
at  the  obstinacy  of  the  enemy,  and  resolved  to  make 
one  more  desperate  effort  for  a  complete  victory,  ral 
lied  a  few  of  his  bravest  troops  about  him,  and  rousing 
them  by  his  enthusiastic  appeals,  led  them  to  a  last 


STORMING     THE     CAMP.  185 

charge  on  the  camp  itself.  "You"  said  he  to  one, "  was 
with  me  at  Quebec,  you  in  the  wilderness,  and  you  on 
Champlain — Follow  me  !"  His  sword  was  seen  glanc 
ing  like  a  beam  of  light  along  their  serried  array — the 
next  moment  he  galloped  in  front  and  riding  right  gal 
lantly  at  their  head  through  the  devouring  fire,  broke 
with  a  clatter  and  a  crash  into  the  very  sally-port  of 
the  enemy,  where  horse  and  rider  sunk  together  to  the 
earth — the  good  steed  dead,  and  Arnold  beneath  him, 
with  his  leg  shattered  to  pieces,  the  same  leg  that  was 
broken  at  the  storming  of  Quebec. 

This  ended  the  fight,  and  the  wounded  hero  was 
borne  pale  and  bleeding  from  the  field  of  his  fame  only 
to  awaken  to  chagrin  and  disappointment.  There  is 
but  little  doubt,  that  when  he  violated  his  orders  and 
galloped  to  the  field,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  bury 
his  sorrows  and  disappointments  in  a  bloody  grave. 
Would  that  he  had  succeeded,  and  saved  himself  from 
the  curse  of  his  countrymen  and  the  scorn  of  the 
world ! 

This  was  his  last  battle  in  the  cause  of  American 
freedom.  All  the  following  winter  he  lay  at  Albany 
confined  to  his  room  by  his  wounds.  In  the  mean 
time  Congress  relented,  and  grudgingly  gave  him  his 
rank.  Washington  made  this  known  to  him  in  a  com 
plimentary  letter,  and  in  the  spring  presented  him  with 
a  sword  and  a  pair  of  epaulettes.  At  this  time  he 
made  a  visit  of  a  month  or  two  to  Middletown  and 
New  Haven,  Connecticut ;  and  in  the  latter  part  of 
May  joined  the  army  at  Valley  Forge.  After  the  eva 
cuation  of  Philadelphia  he  was  appointed  to  the  com 
mand  of  the  city.  He  had  been  here  only  a  month, 
16* 


186  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

when  finding  himself  unpopular,  on  account  of  mea 
sures  which  some  esteemed  arbitrary,  he  applied  to 
Washington  for  leave  to  quit  the  army  and  enter  the 
navy.  Receiving  no  encouragement,  however,  in  this 
project,  he  abandoned  it. 

At  length  he  became  so  involved  in  difficulties  with 
the  President  and  Council  of  Pennsylvania,  that  they 
brought  eight  charges  against  him,  the  burden  of  which 
was,  that  he  had  abused  his  power,  invaded  the  rights 
of  the  citizens,  and  interfered  with  the  government  of 
the  state.  These  charges  were  sent  to  Congress,  and 
referred  by  them  to  a  committee  of  inquiry,  who  in 
their  report  cleared  Arnold  from  all  blame.  Congress, 
however,  for  some  reason  or  other,  did  not  act  on  this 
report,  and  the  subject  came  up  again.  After  some  trou 
ble,  the  whole  affair  was  referred  to  Washington,  who 
called  a  court-martial  and  appointed  the  time  and  place 
of  its  sitting.  The  Council  of  Pennsylvania  was  not 
ready  at  the  appointed  day,  and  the  trial  was  deferred, 
much  to  the  vexation  of  Arnold,  for  he  had  resigned 
his  command  at  Philadelphia  to  wait  the  decision  of 
the  court.  This  was  in  March,  1779.  The  trial  final 
ly  came  on  the  next  December,  but  did  not  close  till 
the  latter  part  of  January.  The  charges  were  not 
sustained,  though  a  general  verdict  was  rendered 
against  him,  in  which  he  was  declared  to  have  acted 
imprudently  and  unwisely,  and  sentenced  to  be  repri 
manded  by  the  commander-in-chief.  Washington  ful 
filled  his  task  as  gently  as  possible,  but  Arnold  was 
deeply  enraged.  It  was  at  this  time  he  first  came  to  a 
definite  determination  to  betray  his  country.  He  had 
before  made  secret  advances  under  an  assumed  name, 


HIS     TREASON.  187 

resolved  to  be  governed  in  the  future  by  circumstances. 
He  now  saw  that  his  enemies  would  hunt  him  down  in 
the  end,  and  his  wayward  mind  revolved  a  thousand 
different  schemes.  Relenting  a  moment  from  his  pur 
pose,  he  resolved  to  quit  the  army  and  establish  a  set 
tlement  in  the  western  part  of  New  York,  with  the  of 
ficers  and  soldiers  who  had  served  under  him.  The 
project  however  fell  through,  and  he  remained  in  Phil 
adelphia,  maintaining  a  sumptuous  style  of  living,  wholly 
unequal  to  his  means,  and  which  involved  him  deeply 
in  debt,  and  still  worse,  drove  him  to  very  unquestion 
able,  if  not  dishonest  means  of  obtaining  money.  In 
the  mean  time,  he  became  enamored  with  the  daugh 
ter  of  Edward  Shippen,  of  Philadelphia,  and  soon  after 
married  her.  Pressed  down  by  pecuniary  embarrass 
ments,  withheld,  as  he  averred,  from  his  just  dues  by 
Congress,  burning  for  an  opportunity  to  revenge  him 
self,  he  now  became  a  lost  man.  His  thirst  for  military 
distinction  was  extinguished,  and  he  bent  all  his  ener 
gies  and  used  all  his  influence  to  obtain  command  of 
West  Point — much  to  the  surprise  of  Washington,  who 
wondered  at  the  sudden  listlessness  of  such  a  man  in  the 
opening  of  a  stirring  campaign.  He  finally  succeeded, 
and  his  base  purpose  began  to  assume  a  more  definite 
form.  He  at  first  corresponded  with  Clinton,  at  New 
York,  under  a  feigned  name;  but  the  latter  suspecting, 
from  the  information  given,  that  it  was  no  common  man  to 
whom  he  was  indebted,  began  to  cast  about  for  the  author, 
and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  be  Ar 
nold.  The  negotiation  then  became  more  direct,  and 
the  contract  was  soon  completed.  Arnold  was  to  sur 
render  West  Point  for  a  certain  rank  in  the  British 


188  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

army  and  a  certain  amount  of  money.  The  plan, 
which  had  been  ripening  for  eighteen  months,  now 
drew  to  a  close.  Under  the  name  of  Anderson,  Ar 
nold  had  carried  on  a  long  correspondence,  until 
finally,  Andre  was  appointed  to  have  a  personal  inter 
view  with  him.  After  several  unsuccessful  attempts, 
they  at  length  met,  and  concluded  all  the  arrange 
ments.  A  large  British  force  was  to  ascend  the  river, 
on  a  certain  day,  and  land  at  the  most  important  points, 
which  Arnold  was  to  leave  unprotected.  The  hand 
of  a  kind  Providence  frustrated  the  design,  the  suc 
cessful  execution  of  which,  would  have  been  most  dis 
astrous  to  the  cause  of  American  liberty.  The  in 
ability  of  Andre  to  return  on  board  the  Vulture,  on  the 
same  night  that  he  left — the  steady  refusal  of  the  man 
who  brought  him  ashore,  to  take  him  back  the  next 
day — the  sudden  determination  to  change  his  route 
after  the  guide  left  him,  and  the  loss  of  his  presence  of 
mind,  and  supreme  folly,  when  arrested  on  the  high 
way  by  the  three  Americans,  are  all  a  connected 
chain,  with  the  links  hung  so  precariously  together, 
that  he  must  be  a  madman  who  cannot  trace  an  un 
seen  power  controlling  the  whole  transaction.  I  do 
not  design  to  go  into  the  particulars  of  this  affair,  they 
are  known  to  all.  By  the  folly  of  Colonel  Jameson, 
to  whom  Andre,  and  the  papers  he  had  on  his  person 
were  committed,  Arnold  escaped.  This  officer  sent 
on  the  prisoner  to  West  Point,  where  he  would  safely 
have  arrived,  but  for  the  interference  of  Major  Tall- 
madge,  who  being  told  on  his  return  from  White 
Plains  in  the  evening  of  the  events  that  had  occurred, 
urged  his  superior  officer  with  such  earnestness  to 


ARREST     OF     ANDRE.  189 

bring  Andre  back,  that  he  at  length  reluctantly  con 
sented,  and  the  party  was  overtaken  before  it  reached 
the  river.  He,  however,  stubbornly  insisted  on  sending 
a  letter  to  Arnold,  and  did  so :  Washington,  in  the  mean 
time,  was  on  his  return  route  from  Hartford,  to  head 
quarters  by  way  of  West  Point.  The  messenger  sent 
to  him  with  the  papers  missed  him,  by  taking  the  lower 
road,  while  he  took  the  upper  one.  To  complete  the 
misfortune,  Washington,  who  had  arrived  at  Fishkill,  in 
the  afternoon,  with  the  intention  to  proceed  to  West 
Point  that  night,  where  Arnold  still  remained  ignorant 
of  Andre's  arrest,  and  his  own  danger ;  was  met  just 
out  of  town,  by  the  French  minister,  M.  de  la  Luzerne, 
on  his  way  to  Newport,  to  visit  Count  Rochambeau, 
and  persuaded  by  him  to  turn  back.  The  next  morn 
ing  early  he  started  for  West  Point,  having  sent  on 
word  to  Arnold  that  he  would  breakfast  with  him.  But 
when  he  reached  the  river,  opposite  the  fort,  instead 
of  crossing  immediately,  he  rode  down  to  visit  some 
of  the  redoubts.  He  sent  over  two  aids  to  tell  Arnold 
not  to  wait,  and  so  they  sat  down  to  breakfast.  While 
at  table,  a  messenger  came  in  and  handed  a  letter  to 
him.  He  immediately  broke  the  seal,  and  read  with 
consternation,  the  letter  of  Colonel  Jameson.  With 
wonderful  self-possession,  and  without  betraying  any 
emotion,  he  rose  hastily  from  the  table,  saying  that  ur 
gent  business  called  him  away,  and  requested  them  to 
tell  Washington  so  on  his  arrival.  Ordering  his  horse  to 
be  saddled,  he  went  up  to  his  wife's  room  and  sent  for  her. 
In  a  brief  and  hurried  manner  he  confessed  the  whole 
affair,  saying,  that  unless  he  reached  the  English  lines 
without  detection,  he  would  lose  his  life.  He  told  her, 


190  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

perhaps  they  would  meet  no  more,  but  had  hardly  be 
gun  his  farewell,  before  she  sunk  in  a  swoon  at  his 
feet.  Leaving  her  pale  and  lifeless  on  the  couch, 
a  crushed  and  broken  thing,  he  hastened  down  stairs, 
and  sprang  to  the  saddle.  Galloping  straight  for  the 
river,  he  entered  a  boat,  and  ordered  the  oarsmen  to 
row,  as  for  life,  for  the  English  ship  Vulture.  He 
reached  it  in  safety.  Washington,  in  the  mean  time, 
arrived  at  Arnold's  house,  and  after  taking  a  hasty 
breakfast,  went  to  visit  the  garrison,  where  he  expected 
to  meet  the  latter.  Disappointed  in  not  finding  him 
there,  he  remained  for  a  while,  and  then  turned  back 
to  the  house.  On  his  way  he  saw  Hamilton  walking 
rapidly  towards  him.  The  latter  taking  Washington 
aside,  showed  him  the  papers  that  had  been  in  pursuit 
of  him.  Calm  and  unmoved,  he  instantly  hurried  off 
Hamilton  to  Verplanck's  Point,  to  intercept  if  possible 
the  traitor — it  was  too  late,  however  ;  he  had  escaped, 
leaving  his  beautiful  wife  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief,  and 
on  the  verge  of  madness. 

Of  the  tragical  fate  of  Andre,  and  the  romantic  ad 
venture  of  Sergeant  Champe  to  capture  Arnold,  I  shall 
say  nothing.  The  wretched  man  was  made  colonel  in 
the  English  army,  with  the  brevet  of  brigadier-general, 
and  received  about  thirty  thousand  dollars  in  money — a 
small  reward  for  his  treason.  He  soon  after  published 
"  An  Address  to  the  Inhabitants  of  America,"  vindicating 
his  conduct  and  calling  on  them  to  return  to  their  allegi 
ance.  It  was  a  mixture  of  impudence,  bombast,  and 
falsehood,  from  beginning  to  end.  Soon  after  he  was 
sent  to  the  Chesapeake,  and  at  the  head  of  twelve  hun 
dred  men  laid  waste  the  towns  with  the  cruelty  of  one 


HIS     CHARACTER.  191 

lost  to  every  noble  sentiment.  Among  the  prisoners 
he  took  on  this  occasion  was  a  captain,  who,  on  being 
asked  by  him  what  the  Americans  would  do  if  they 
captured  him,  replied,  "  They  will  cut  off  the  leg  which 
was  wounded  in  fighting  for  liberty,  and  bury  it  with 
the  honors  of  war,  and  hang  the  rest  of  your  body  on  a 
gibbet." 

After  this  he  was  sent  against  New  London,  and 
burned  it  to  the  ground  ;  and  there,  around  the  very 
haunts  of  his  childhood,  committed  enormities  worthy 
of  a  traitor. 

HIS    TREASON    AND    CHARACTER. 

That  Arnold  would  ever  have  betrayed  his  country 
had  Congress  treated  him  with  justice,  there  is  no  rea 
son  to  believe.  The  traitor  has  now  no  advocate,  and 
nothing  can  be  said  against  him  that  is  not  readily  be 
lieved.  In  every  act  of  his  life  is  found  some  lurking 
treason,  and  every  trait  of  his  character  is  blackened. 
This  cannot  be  complained  of— it  is  the  just  reward  of 
his  deeds  ;  yet  in  the  strict  truth  lies  the  whole  benefit 
of  the  example.  Finding  his  juniors  promoted  over  him, 
he  became  deeply  embittered,  and  wished  at  once  to  re 
tire  from  the  army,  as  every  honorable  man  would  have 
done.  Had  he  carried  out  his  intentions,  he  might  have 
been  perhaps  in  the  end  a  Tory  ;  for  his  restless,  impe 
tuous  spirit  would  not  have  allowed  him  to  remain 
quiet.  But  the  hopes  held  out  by  Washington  induced 
him  to  remain  at  his  post,  and  he  fought  bravely,  nobly 
in  the  cause  of  freedom.  Confidently  trusting  to  the 
justice  of  Congress,  he  showed  a  magnanimity  and  pa 
triotism  unsurpassed  by  any  officer  in  the  army.  But 


192          MAJOR  GENERAL  ARNOLD. 

the  more  his  great  services  gave  him  prominence  in 
the  eyes  of  his  countrymen,  the  more  public  and  galling 
became  the  doubtful  and  annoying  position  in  which  he 
was  placed.     His  best  actions  belied — his  very  success 
only  bringing  down  on  him  fresh  insults — beleaguered 
by  powerful  enemies,  he  became  desperate  and  reckless. 
Mr.  Sparks   intimates   that   the  injustice  of  Congress 
grew  out  of  the  stern  integrity  and  virtue  of  the  mem 
bers,  who,  conscious  of  Arnold's  moral  defects,  did  not 
wish  to  place  power  in  such  dangerous  hands.     But 
this  apology  for  Congress  casts  a  severe  reflection  on 
Washington.     He  knew  more  than  it  did  of  Arnold's 
character,   and  yet  he  steadily  took   sides  with   him 
throughout.     Was  Washington  less  careful  of  moral 
qualities,  less  pure  in  his  feelings,  or  more  charitable 
to  wickedness,  than  the  members  who  composed  this 
body  ?     Or  was  Stark,  who  resigned  at  once,  and  for 
the  same  cause  that  maddened  Arnold,  also  a  danger 
ous  character  ?     No :  the  truth  is,  the  brilliant  career, 
and  incredible  daring  and  gallant  behavior  of  Arnold 
in  battle,  dazzled  the  people,  and  he  obtained  at  once  a 
prominence  which  some  of  his  fellow  officers  thought 
undeserved,  and  so  they  endeavored  to  pull  him  down. 
His  irritable,  haughty  nature  and  great  moral  defects 
unfortunately  gave  them  too  much  ground  on  which  to 
base  their  hostility.     Envy  and  hatred  combined  sent 
the  first  arrow  at  his  bosom,  and  organized  the  first 
opposition,  which  afterwards  proved  too  strong  for  him. 
About  this  time,  too,  Congress  began  to  be  divided  by 
factions,  which  at  length  threatened  by  their  violence 
to  disrupt  every  thing.    Arnold  became  a  prey  to  these 
also,  which  pursued  him  with  such  untiring  animosity, 


HIS     CHARACTER.  193 

that  Washington  himself  could  scarcely  obtain  for  him 
even  partial  justice.  To  selfishness,  and  madness,  and 
folly,  and  not  to  patriotism,  is  to  be  ascribed  the  treat 
ment  which  he  received.  His  unbridled  tongue,  and 
open  and  fierce  denunciations  of  men  and  measures 
which  did  not  suit  him,  turned  injustice  into  hatred, 
and  neglect  into  persecution. 

After  the  wound  his  feelings  had  received  was  par 
tially  healed  by  giving  him  his  rank,  it  was  opened 
afresh  by  the  long  deferred  court-martial,  which  finally 
sentenced  him  to  be  reprimanded.  He  was  at  last 
convinced  that  the  career  of  military  glory  he  wished 
to  run  must  finally  be  arrested  by  the  untiring  hostility 
of  his  enemies,  and  he  resolved  on  revenge.  The  mo 
ment  he  seriously  entertained  this  thought,  his  doom 
was  sealed.  Honor,  generosity,  and  every  noble  feel 
ing,  died  at  once  in  his  bosom,  and  it  is  unfair  to 
judge  of  his  character  by  his  conduct  after  his  treason. 
It  was  natural  he  should  become  immediately  demoral 
ized,  and  utterly  lost  to  all  that  becomes  a  man.  His 
act  was  the  very  desperation  of  crime,  and  corrupted 
the  entire  soul.  Had  he  retired  from  the  army, 
his  countrymen  would  in  time  have  redressed  his 
wrongs,  and  given  him  that  place  in  their  affections  his 
great  services  merited.  It  is  well  for  his  enemies  that 
his  career  terminated  as  it  did,  for  had  he  remained  true 
to  his  country,  and  survived  the  tumult  and  chaos  of  the 
Revolution,  they  would  have  cowered  before  the  light 
which  history  would  have  thrown  on  their  actions. 

Arnold's  treason  has  sunk  in  oblivion  all  his  noble 
deeds — covered  his  career  with  infamy,  and  fixed  a 
deep  and  damning  curse  on  his  name.  Men  turn  ab- 

VOL.  i.  17 


194  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

horrent  from  his  grave — friends  and  foes  speak  of  him 
alike  with  scorn,  and  children  learn  to  shudder  at  the 
name  of  Benedict  Arnold.  This  is  all  right  and  just, 
but  there  is  another  lesson  beside  the  guilt  of  treason 
to  be  learned  from  his  history — that  it  is  no  less  dan 
gerous  than  criminal,  to  let  party  spirit  or  personal 
friendship,  promote  the  less  deserving  over  their  supe 
riors  in  rank.  The  enemies  of  Arnold  have  a  heavy 
account  to  render  for  their  injustice,  and  our  Congress 
would  do  well  to  take  warning  from  "their  example. 

That  his  character  was  radically  defective  no  one 
can  doubt.  His  betrayal  of  his  country  is  sufficient 
proof  that  his  principles  were  corrupt,  and  his  revenge 
unsparing  and  fiendish.  Of  a  proud  and  determined 
spirit — full  of  resolution  and  will,  he  was  never  made 
to  bend.  The  storm  that  struck  him  must  leave  him 
standing  or  utterly  wrecked.  Submission  was  a  word 
he  never  learned,  and  a  virtue  he  never  practised,  nei 
ther  in  the  battle-field  nor  in  the  state.  This  quality 
made  him  resistless  in  combat,  but  made  him  also  des 
perate  under  restraints  which  he  deemed  unjust.  He 
was  a  man  of  decided  genius — sudden  and  daring  in 
his  plans,  and  brilliant  in  their  execution.  As  an  officer 
he  possessed  great  merit,  and  Washington  knew  it,  and 
hence  constantly  interposed  the  shield  of  his  person 
between  him  and  his  enemies.  Like  Bonaparte  he 
wanted  power  and  skill  at  the  head  of  his  armies. 
Impelled  by  broader  and  nobler  views  than  Congress, 
and  governed  by  a  juster  spirit,  he  would,  if  left  to 
himself,  have  bound  Arnold  to  the  cause  of  freedom  with 
cords  of  iron.  He  would  not  have  visited  too  severely 
on  him  his  extravagances,  or  held  him  too  closely  ac- 


HIS     CHARACTER.  195 

countable  for  the  use  of  his  power.  Knowing  him  to 
be  impetuous  and  headlong,  nay,  arrogant  and  over 
bearing,  and  often  unscrupulous,  he  would  have  curbed 
him  by  remonstrance  rather  than  by  disgrace,  and  di 
rected  all  those  vast  energies  so  eager  for  action  on 
the  foes  of  his  country. 

But  with  all  Arnold's  impetuosity,  he  was  prudent 
and  skilful.  He  laid  his  plans  with  judgment,  then 
pressed  them  with  a  vigor  and  energy  that  astonished 
every  one.  He  could  be  safely  trusted  with  an  army, 
for  although  he  could  scarcely  resist  the  temptation  to 
fight  when  battle  was  offered,  he  managed  it  prudently, 
and  extricated  himself  from  difficulties  with  wonderful 
skill.  'He  would  struggle  with  the  most  stubborn  ob 
stinacy  to  maintain  his  ground  against  an  overwhelm 
ing  force,  and  when  compelled  to  retreat,  do  it  with 
consummate  address.  One  great  cause  of  his  success 
was  his  celerity  of  movement.  His  mind  worked  with 
singular  rapidity,  and  what  he  resolved  to  do  he  urged 
on  with  all  the  power  of  which  he  was  possessed.  His 
blow  was  no  sooner  planned  than  it  fell,  and  in  the  heat 
of  a  close  fight,  he  was  prompt  and  deadly  as  a  bolt 
from  heaven.  "  Shattering  that  he  might  reach,  and 
shattering  what  he  reached,"  he  was  one  of  those  few 
fearful  men  in  the  world  that  make  us  tremble  at  our 
selves.  His  power  over  his  troops,  and  even  over  mi 
litia,  was  so  great,  that  they  became  veterans  at  once 
under  his  eye,  and  closed  like  walls  of  iron  around  him. 
A  braver  man  never  led  an  army.  He  not  only  seemed 
unconscious  of  fear,  but  loved  the  excitement  of  dan 
ger,  and  was  never  more  at  home  than  when  in 
the  smoke  of  the  conflict.  Place  a  column  of  twenty 


196  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

thousand  veteran  troops  under  him,  and  not  a  mar 
shal  of  Bonaparte's  could  carry  it  farther,  or  hurl  it 
with  greater  strength  and  terror  on  an  enemy  than  he. 
Caught  by  no  surprise — patient  and  steady  under  trials, 
energetic  and  determined  amid  obstacles,  equal  to  any 
emergency,  and  daring  even  to  rashness — he  was  a  ter 
rible  man  on  the  battle-field.  But  his  pride  and  passions 
were  too  strong  for  his  principles,  and  he  fell  like  Lu 
cifer  from  heaven.  Placing  his  personal  feelings  above 
every  thing  else,  he  sacrificed  even  his  country  to 
them.  Revenge  was  stronger  than  patriotism. 

He  has  been  called  avaricious  and  mean  in  money 
matters,  and  after  his  treason  he  doubtless  was,  for  he 
had  descended  to  a  depth  of*  depravity  that  left  no 
room  for  any  virtue  to  exhibit  itself.  He  was  unscru 
pulous  both  in  the  way  he  gained  and  squandered 
money,  but  he  certainly  never  accumulated  any  for 
tune  in  the  army.  Several  stories  are  related  of  him 
to  prove  that  he  was  dishonorable,  many  of  which  are 
doubtless  true  ;  but  there  is  one  in  his  favor  outweigh 
ing  them  all  in  my  estimation.  General  Warren,  when 
he  fell  so  nobly  on  Bunker  Hill — one  of  the  first  great 
offerings  to  liberty,  left  four  destitute  and  orphan  chil 
dren  to  the  protection  of  his  country.  When  Arnold 
first  took  the  command  at  Philadelphia,  he  learned 
to  his  surprise  that  the  state  of  Massachusetts  had 
neglected  to  provide  for  them.  He  immediately  wrote 
to  the  lady  under  whose  protection  they  were,  express 
ing  his  astonishment  that  the  State  had  done  nothing, 
and  begging  her  to  continue  her  charge,  and  have  the 
son  well  clothed  and  sent  to  the  best  school  in  Boston. 
In  the  mean  time,  he  promised  to  bring  the  matter  before 


HIS     CHARACTER.  197 

Congress,  and  also  to  raise  a  private  subscription  in 
their  behalf.  Not  content  with  doing  this,  he  sent  her 
five  hundred  dollars  out  of  his  own  purse  towards  de 
fraying  the  expense  of  their  maintenance,  and  re 
quested  her  to  call  on  him  whenever  she  needed  aid. 
He  kept  his  promise,  and  from  time  to  time  forwarded 
money,  and  finally  prevailed  on  Congress  to  make  pro 
vision  for  them.  This  noble  and  generous  act  offsets 
a  thousand  accusations  of  meanness.  The  story  of 
having  got  pay  two  or  three  times  over  for  the  horse 
shot  under  him  at  Bemis'  heights,  should  be  received 
with  many  grains  of  allowance,  when  it  is  remembered 
he  spent  ten  times  the  sum  in  gratuitous,  unsolicited 
charity. 

After  the  close  of  the  war,  Arnold  went  to  Eng 
land  ;  and  though  he  was  shown  some  public  favor, 
even  those  to  whom  he  had  sold  himself  detested  him. 
After  a  while  he  removed  to  St.  John's,  New  Brunswick, 
and  established  himself  as  a  merchant.  His  trade  was 
principally  with  the  West  Indies,  and  he  rapidly  ac 
quired  a  fortune.  He  lived  in  an  expensive  style,  and 
by  his  haughty  bearing  rendered  himself  obnoxious  to 
the  inhabitants.  While  on  a  voyage  to  England,  one 
of  his  warehouses,  on  which  there  was  a  large  insu 
rance,  took  fire  under  rather  suspicious  circumstances, 
and  burned  up,  which  so  increased  the  hostility,  that 
the  people  burned  him  in  effigy,  which  they  named 
"  The  Traitor"  Not  long  after  he  returned  to  Eng 
land,  where  he  continued  to  reside  till  his  death.  He 
however  made  frequent  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  in 
one  of  which  occurred  an  adventure  illustrative  of  his 
character.  The  war  had  commenced  between  England 

17* 


198  MAJOR     GENERAL     ARNOLD. 

and  France,  and  he  had  solicited  an  appointment  in  the 
army,  but  the  officers  steadily  refusing  to  associate  with 
him,  his  request  was  denied.  He  therefore  returned  to 
his  old  commercial  pursuits,  and  sailed  for  Guadaloupe. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  with  others,  when  the  island 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  French,  and  placed  on  board 
a  vessel  in  the  harbor.  Assuming  the  name  of  Ander 
son,  he  hoped  to  escape  detection,  but  the  sentinel  told 
him  he  was  known  and  was  in  great  danger.  With 
his  usual  promptness,  he  immediately  laid  a  plan  to  es 
cape.  Putting  his  money  in  a  cask  and  throwing  it 
overboard,  he  let  himself  down  after  it  on  some  planks, 
and  floated  off.  Reaching  a  small  boat,  he  rowed  to 
wards  the  English  fleet  and  escaped.  Soon  after  he 
died  in  London,  June  14th,  1801,  sixty  one  years  of 
age. 

Thus  passed  away  this  powerful,  yet  fallen  and  lost 
man.  He  was  married  twice,  first  to  a  Miss  Mansfield, 
of  New  Haven,  by  whom  he  had  three  sons,  and  after 
wards  to  Miss  Shippen  of  Philadelphia.  One  of  these 
sons  came  to  a  violent  death  in  the  West  Indies,  the 
other  two  took  up  their  residence  in  Canada,  where 
they  received  some  lands  from  government. 

Arnold  is  a  striking  example  of  the  evils  of  an  un 
governable  nature.  He  started  well,  but  his  hasty  tem 
per  made  him  fly  into  the  face  of  opposition  instead  of 
reasoning  it  down,  and  hence  a  host  of  enemies  arose 
against  him.  The  more  these  multiplied,  the  more  un 
tamed  and  furious  he  became,  till  perfectly  entangled  in 
difficulties,  he  threw  himself  headlong  from  the  heights 
he  occupied  into  an  abyss  of  infamy  and  shame.  Yet 
even  this  failed  to  subdue  him,  and  he  died  an  ungov- 


HIS     DEATH.  199 

erned  and  abhorred  man.  Still  much  charity  should  be 
extended  to  one,  endowed  by  nature  with  such  terrible 
passions  as  he  possessed.  Unless  arrested  by  the 
strong  hand  of  parental  kindness  in  early  youth,  they 
always  wreck  their  victim  at  last. 


V. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

His  Early  Life— Taken  Prisoner  by  the  Indians  and  Runs  the  Gaunt 
let—Enters  the  Army— Battle  with  the  French  and  Indians— Exhi 
bition  of  Great  Physical  Power— Bravery  at  Bunker  Hill— Battle  of 
Trenton— Retires  from  the  Army— Battle  of  Bennington — Close  of 
his  Career — His  Character. 

IT  was  perhaps  fortunate  for  us  that  the  Revolution 
followed  so  close  on  the  heels  of  the  French  War,  for 
it  found  the  people  prepared  for  hostilities.  Almost  in 
every  town,  especially  on  the  frontiers,  more  or  less  am 
munition  was  stored,  and  companies  were  formed,  while 
many  effective  officers  stood  ready  to  enter  the  service, 
for  which  their  long  experience  in  the  bloody  conflict 
that  had  just  closed,  admirably  fitted  them.  Among  these 
was  John  Stark.  Born  in  Nutfield,  now  Londonderry, 
New  Hampshire,  August  28th,  1728;  he  was  forty- 
seven  years  of  age  when  the  Revolution  commenced. 
His  father  was  a  Scotchman  by  birth,  but  had  emi 
grated  to  Ireland,  from  whence  he  came  to  this  country. 
In  1736  he  removed  to  Manchester,  then  Derryfield, 
where  John  remained  till  twenty-seven  years  of  age. 
A  strong,  athletic  youth,  full  of  fire  and  energy,  self- 
reliant  and  fearless,  he  early  gave  promise  of  his  after 
career.  At  this  period,  loving  adventure,  and  capable 


/ 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  201 

of  great  endurance,  he  went  to  the  north-west  part 
of  the  State,  deep  into  the  wilderness,  on  a  hunting 
expedition.  An  elder  brother  and  two  young  men  by 
the  names  of  Stinson  and  Eastman,  were  his  only  com 
panions.  While  pursuing  their  vocation  in  these  soli 
tudes,  they  came  one  day  upon  a  trail  of  ten  Indians, 
which  induced  them  to  make  preparations  to  leave. 
John,  while  collecting  the  traps,  a  little  distance  off, 
was  suddenly  surrounded  and  seized  by  the  savages, 
who  asked  him  where  his  other  companions  were. 
Forgetting  himself,  and  thinking  only  of  the  safety 
of  his  friends,  he  pointed  in  a  wrong  direction,  and 
succeeded  in  leading  the  Indians  two  miles  out  of 
the  way.  He  would  have  entirely  baffled  their  search, 
but  for  the  signal-guns  of  his  fellow-hunters,  which 
they,  alarmed  at  his  long  absence,  fired  for  his  return. 
Guided  by  the  sound,  the  savages  retraced  their  steps, 
and  came  upon  them  moving  down  the  river — Stark 
and  Stinson  in  a  boat,  and  Eastman  on  the  bank.  The 
latter  they  immediately  seized,  and  then  ordered  John 
Stark  to  hail  the  other  two,  and  bring  them  ashore. 
He  obeyed,  but  instead  of  asking  them  to  share  his 
captivity,  he  told  them  of  his  peril,  and  advised  them 
to  pull  with  all  their  might  for  the  opposite  shore. 
They  immediately  sprang  to  their  oars,  which  the 
Indians  no  sooner  saw,  than  four  of  them  leveled  their 
guns  and  fired.  Young  Stark,  who  watched  their 
movements,  suddenly  leaped  forward  and  knocked 
two  of  the  guns  in  the  air.  The  others  then  lifted 
their  pieces  and  fired,  but  the  intrepid  arm  of  the  young 
hunter  again  interposed,  and  struck  the  barrels  aside 
from  their  aim.  One  shot,  however,  took  effect,  and 


202  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

young  Stinson  fell  back  in  the  boat  dead.  John  called 
out  to  his  older  brother  to  fly,  for  the  guns  were  now 
all  unloaded.  He  did  so  and  escaped..  The  Indians, 
maddened  at  their  failure,  fell  furiously  on  Stark  and 
beat  him  cruelly. 

When  the  party  returned  to  St.  Francis,  the  two 
prisoners  were  compelled  to  run  the  gauntlet.  East 
man  passed  first  through  the  lines,  and  was  terribly 
bruised,  but  Stark  had  no  intention  of  being  tamely 
flogged.  No  sooner  did  he  approach  the  fearful  ave 
nue  of  warriors,  with  their  uplifted  rods  and  bludgeons, 
than  he  snatched  a  club  from  the  nearest  one,  and 
sprang  forward.  With  his  eye  glancing  defiance,  and  his 
trusty  club  swinging  in  rapid  circles  about  his  head — 
falling  now  on  the  right  hand,  and  now  on  the  left — he 
cleared  a  terrible  path  for  himself  through  the  throng, 
scattering  the  warriors  in  affright,  and  dealing  far  more 
blows  than  he  received,  in  his  passage. 

He  remained  three  or  four  months  with  the  Indians, 
who  found  him  rather  an  impracticable  captive.  When 
ordered  to  hoe  corn,  he  cut  it  up,  and  left  the  weeds 
standing ;  and  when  pressed  still  farther,  threw  his  hoe 
into  the  river.  Instead  of  being  exasperated  at  this 
defiant  spirit,  his  captors  were  pleased  with  it,  and 
adopted  him  as  a  young  chief  into  their  tribe.  At 
length  he  was  ransomed  for  one  hundred  and  three 
dollars,  while  the  savages  asked  but  sixty  for  Eastman. 
The  next  year  he  went  on  a  similar  expedition  to  the 
head  waters  of  the  Androscoggin,  in  order  to  obtain 
money  to  indemnify  those  who  had  ransomed  him. 
He  continued  this  adventurous  life  for  two  years — 
sometimes  acting  as  a  guide  to  exploring  expeditions. 


PERILOUS     EXPEDITION.  203 

At  the  breaking  out  of  the  "  French  War,"  a  corps 
of  rangers  was  raised  in  New  Hampshire,  and  placed 
under  Robert  Rogers.  In  this  corps,  which  soon 
marched  to  Fort  Edward,  Stark  is  found  as  lieu 
tenant  of  a  regiment.  He  was  at  the  fort  when  Colonel 
Williams  fell  in  the  attack  on  Baron  Dieskau,  and  heard 
the  uproar  of  the  after-battle,  in  which  General  Johnson 
was  victorious  and  the  French  and  Indians  defeated. 
This  was  his  introduction  into  scenes  of  carnage  ;  and 
around  "Bloody  Pond"  he  took  his  first  lessons  in  war. 
Soon  after  his  regiment  was  disbanded,  and  he  returned 
home — to  remain  idle,  however,  only  for  a  short  time, 
for  he  was  again  soon  in  a  company  of  rangers,  to  be 
attached  to  the  garrisons  between  Lake  George  and  the 
Hudson.  Bold,  indefatigable,  and  hardy,  he  brought 
efficient  aid  to  his  corps,  and  was  soon  raised  to  the 
rank  of  first  lieutenant. 

PERILOUS    EXPEDITION. 

In  mid- winter,  1757,  an  expedition,  commanded  by 
Major  Rogers,  was  fitted  out  to  go  down  Lake  George 
towards  Ticonderoga,  in  which  Stark  was  one  of 
the  officers.  Now  on  the  ice,  and  now  on  snow- 
shoes  along  the  shore,  this  party  of  seventy-four  men 
marched  for  three  days  till  they  came  to  Lake  Cham- 
plain.  Seeing  some  sleds  advancing  over  the  ice  in 
the  distance,  Rogers  pursued  them  and  took  several 
prisoners,  from  whom  he  learned  there  was  a  large 
force  of  French  and  Indians  at  Ticonderoga.  Know 
ing  that  those  who  escaped  would  carry  the  intelligence 
of  his  approach,  and  bring  out  an  overwhelming  force 


204  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

against   him,  he  ordered   a  retreat.      In  single  file — 
Rogers  ahead  and  Stark  in  the  rear — the  whole  com 
pany  stretched  away  over  the  snow  for  more  than  a 
mile.     Suddenly,  on  ascending  a  hill,  they  found  them 
selves  face  to  face  with  two  hundred  men,  drawn  up 
in  the  form  of  a  semicircle,  awaiting  their  approach. 
So  unexpected  was  this  meeting,  that  the  head  of  the 
straggling  line  of  rangers  was  not  twenty  feet  from  the 
enemy,  when  they  received  the  first  fire.    Staggered  by 
the  sudden  vollies  which  blazed  in  their  very  faces,  they 
were  thrown  into  disorder,  and  fell  back  down  the  hill, 
leaving  the  snow  red  with  their  blood.     Stark,  however, 
who  was  on  a  hill  about  fifteen  rods  in  the  rear,  immedi 
ately  opened  a  fierce  fire  on  the  shouting  pursuers,  which 
allowed  Rogers  time  to  rally  his  men.    This  he  did  suc 
cessfully,  though  wounded  in  the  effort,  by  a  bullet  in  the 
head.    These  two  bold  men  now  formed  their  little  band 
in  the  order  of  battle,  and  taking  the  centre  themselves, 
repelled  every  attack  of  the  enemy.     Keeping  up  a 
steady  fire,  they  made  that  hill-top  one  blaze  of  light 
from  two  o'clock  till  sunset.     Rogers  had  received  an 
other  ball  through  his  wrist,  which  disabled  him  from 
giving  orders,  and  the  command  devolved  on  Stark. 
While  sitting  down  in  the  snow,  bleeding  fast,  a  private, 
not  much  skilled  in  surgical  operations,  began  very 
coolly  to  cut  off  his  queue,  in  order  to  plug  up  the  bul 
let-hole  in  his  wrist.     As  the  sun  went  down  over  the 
wintry  scene,  some  proposed  a  retreat,  but  Stark,  who 
knew  that  their  safety  depended  on  maintaining  their 
ground  till  after  dark,  sternly  threatened  to  shoot  -the 
first  man  who  should  attempt  to  fly.     Standing  where 
the  shot  fell  thickest,  he  was  cheering  on  his  men,  when 


HIS     WONDERFUL    ENDURANCE.  205 

a  bullet  struck  the  lock  of  his  gun,  and  shattered  it  in 
pieces.  Casting  one  glance  at  his  disabled  piece,  he 
sprang  forward  on  a  Frenchman,  who  was  reeling  back 
in  the  snow,  shot  through  the  body,  and  wrenching  his 
gun  from  his  dying  grasp,  renewed  the  fight.  Thus  he 
stood  and  fought  in  snow  four  feet  deep,  until  the  cold 
January  night  came  on,  when  the  enemy  ceased 
firing  and  withdrew.  He  then  ordered  a  retreat,  and 
this  wounded  and  bleeding  company  dragged  their 
weary  line  all  night  through  the  woods,  and  in  the 
morning  halted  on  Lake  George.  It  was  impossible 
for  the  wounded  to  proceed  farther  on  foot,  and  so 
Stark  offered,  with  two  men,  to  push  on  to  Fort  Wil 
liam  Henry,  forty  miles  distant  and  get  aid.  This  bold, 
hardy,  and  generous  ranger  had  marched  all  the  morn 
ing  over  the  snow,  fought  from  two  o'clock  till  dark  a 
vastly  superior  force,  retreated  all  night,  and  now  in 
the  morning,  offered,  without  rest,  to  go  on  foot  forty 
miles,  after  sleds  for  the  wounded.  Nothing  can  show 
more  strikingly  the  prodigious  energy  of  the  man  than 
this  expedition.  Wearied  as  he  was,  and  not  having 
had  any  sleep  the  night  before,  he  set  out  and  accom 
plished  the  forty  miles,  on  snow-shoes,  by  evening. 
Without  waiting  to  rest  himself,  and  too  noble  to  send 
others  in  his  stead,  he  immediately  started  back,  and 
travelling  all  night,  reached  his  companions  next  morn 
ing.  Hastily  placing  his  wounded  on  the  sleds,  he  set 
out  again,  and  in  his  anxiety  to  relieve  their  sufferings, 
pushed  on  with  such  rapidity  that  he  reached  the  fort 
again  that  night.  Few  men  of  our  day  could  stand 
such  a  prodigious  strain  on  their  physical  energies  as 
this.  After  having  marched  and  fought  all  one  day, 
VOL.  i.  18 


206          MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

then  retreated  all  night,  he  travelled  on  foot,  without 
stopping  to  rest,  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  in  less 
than  forty  hours.  Out  of  the  seventy  men  that  entered 
the  battle,  only  forty-eight  unwounded  soldiers  reached 
the  fort  again,  while  more  than  half  of  the  enemy  sunk 
in  the  snow  to  rise  no  more. 

The  winter  after  the  massacre  at  Fort  Henry,  he 
was  stationed  at  Fort  Edward.  In  1758  he  was  with 
Lord  Howe,  in  his  approach  to  Ticonderoga,  with  an 
army  of  sixteen  thousand  men,  and  accompanied  that 
magnificent  array  as  it  moved  in  all  the  pomp  and 
pride  of  war  over  the  beautiful  waters  of  the  Horicon. 
As  Howe  approached  Ticonderoga,  he  despatched 
Rogers  and  Stark  with  two  hundred  rangers  in  ad 
vance.  Rogers  led  the  van,  and  Stark  brought  up  the 
rear,  just  as  they  had  moved  years  before  near  the 
same  place,  when  met  so  suddenly  by  the  French  and 
Indians.  As  they  approached  a  small  creek,  Rogers 
seeing  the  bridge  filled  with  Canadians  and  Indians, 
immediately  came  to  a  halt ;  but  Stark  not  know 
ing  the  cause  of  the  delay,  kept  firmly  on  and  drove 
the  enemy  before  him.  There,  Lord  Howe  soon  after 
fell,  and  the  command  devolved  on  Abercromby.  In 
the  fatal  attack  on  the  fort,  Stark's  rangers  were  in 
advance,  and  received  the  enemy's  fire  till  the  army 
could  form  in  the  rear.  For  four  hours  did  he  and  his 
rangers  stand  side  by  side  with  regular  troops,  exposed 
to  a  terribly  wasting  fire,  and  again  and  again  move 
up  with  the  intrepid  columns  to  the  breastwork,  from 
which  they  were  steadily  hurled  back,  till  over  two 
thousand  fell  at  its  base,  and  the  retreat  was  sounded. 
He  covered  the  rear  in  its  headlong  flight,  and  saw 


BRAVERY     AT     BUNKER'S     HILL.  207 

that  mighty  disordered  mass  roll  back  in  the  gloom, 
with  feelings  of  inexpressible  chagrin. 

Soon  after  he  returned  home,  and  married  Miss 
Elizabeth  Page  of  Dumbarton.  In  the  spring,  how 
ever,  he  was  again  in  the  field,  though  he  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  constructing  a  road  eighty  miles 
through  the  wilderness,  from  Crown  Point  to  Number 
Four.  This  task  being  finished,  he  again  sought  his 
home.  The  next  year  he  was  engaged  in  very  little 
active  service  ;  and  the  war  ending  soon  after,  he  re 
tired  to  his  peaceful  occupations,  at  which  he  remained 
till  the  commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  struggle. 
From  the  first  he  was  a  staunch  patriot,  and  boldly  de 
nounced  the  oppressive  acts  of  Great  Britain.  His 
older  brother  entered  the  English  service  and  was  pro 
moted  to  the  rank  of  colonel ;  but  the  bold  ranger 
would  listen  to  no  overtures  from  friends  or  relatives, 
and  entered  soul  and  heart  into  the  cause  of  the  colo 
nists.  A  member  of  one  of  the  committees  of  safety, 
he  used  all  his  influence  to  unite  the  people  and  rouse 
them  to  resistance.  Within  ten  minutes  from  the  time 
the  news  of  the  battles  of  Concord  and  Lexington 
reached  him,  he  was  in  the  saddle  and  galloping 
away  towards  Boston.  The  volunteers  he  had  ordered 
to  assemble  at  Medford  hastened  on,  and  he  was 
elected  colonel  of  one  of  the  regiments.  His  station 
was  at  Medford  ;  but  on  that  eventful  day,  when  the 
storm  was  gathering  over  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  eagle 
of  liberty  was  taking  his  first  flight  heavenward,  he 
was  sent  for  in  hot  haste.  Marching  his  regiment 
through  the  cannon  balls  that  swept  Charlestown  neck, 
he  led  them  with  shouts  up  to  the  American  lines. 


208          MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

Badly  provided  they  were,  it  is  true,  with  the  muni 
tions  of  war,  but  bearing  brave  hearts  in  their  bosoms. 
It  was  high  time  they  had  arrived,  for  the  massive  col 
umns  of  the  enemy  were  already  forming  on  the  shore 
below — their  burnished  arms  glittering  in  the  sunlight, 
while  the  artillery  was  slowly  moving  upward  like  a 
wall  of  fire.  Addressing  his  men,  he  told  them  the 
eyes  of  the  nation  were  on  them,  and  the  cause  of 
freedom  intrusted  to  their  hands,  and  roused  them,  by 
his  fiery  language,  till  loud  huzzas  rent  the  air.  His 
station  was  behind  the  rail  fence  filled  with  hay,  be 
tween  the  Mystic  river  and  the  road,  and  thither  he  led 
his  men.  Side  by  side  with  the  troops  under  the  brave 
Knowlton — they  reposed  on  their  arms  and  coolly 
waited  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  Some  one  had 
asked  General  Gage  in  the  morning,  if  he  thought  the 
rebels  would  stand  fire.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  if  one  John 
Stark  is  there,  for  he  is  a  brave  fellow."  He  had 
seen  him  fight  on  the  shores  of  Lake  George,  and  knew 
a  truer  and  steadier  man  never  trod  a  battle-field.  He 
was  right — one  John  Stark  was  there,  with  his  stern 
eye  scanning  the  proud  array,  while  his  brief  command 
to  reserve  their  fire  till  they  could  "  see  the  enemy's 
gaiters"  was  repeated  along  the  lines.  And  when  the 
sheet  of  fire  burst  from  that  dark  redoubt,  and  ran  in 
a  torrent  of  flame  down  those  intrenchments,  nowhere 
were  the  volleys  steadier  or  more  deadly  than  where 
Stark  and  his  followers  lay.  Whole  companies  sunk 
at  every  discharge,  and  his  regiment  was  one  of  the 
last  to  leave  the  field  of  battle  ;  and  with  Knowlton's 
troops,  by  the  steady  and  determined  manner  in  which 
they  retired,  saved  the  rest  of  the  army.  In  the  midst 


PUNISHING     THE     PAYMASTER.  209 

of  the  fight  some  one  told  him  that  his  son  had  fallen. 
"  It  is  no  time  for  private  griefs  when  the  enemy  is 
in  front,"  was  the  stern  reply,*  and  he  passed  on. 

After  the  battle  he  took  post  on  Winter  Hill,  and 
while  there  performed  one  of  those  independent  acts 
for  which  he  was  so  remarkable.  The  paymaster  at 
Medford — the  old  station  of  the  New  Hampshire  troops 
— did  not  like  Stark,  and  so  when  his  men  marched  by 
companies  to  receive  their  pay,  he  refused  to  give  it,  on 
the  ground  of  informality  in  the  making  out  of  their  pay^ 
rolls.  The  soldiers  indignant  at  the  treatment  returned 
to  the  camp,  and  the  next  day  fortified,  as  they  sup 
posed,  with  correct  papers,  again  marched  to  Medford, 
but  with  no  better  success.  The  same  was  done  the 
third  day,  till  the  men  lost  all  patience  and  gathered  tu- 
multuously  around  their  commander,  demanding  redress. 
The  latter  now  fairly  roused,  exclaimed,  "  The  regi 
ment  has  made  him  three  visits,  he  shall  now  make 
them  one  in  return,"  and  immediately  dispatched  a 
guard  to  bring  him  to  camp.  They  performed  their 
mission,  and  brought  him  along  to  the  tune  of  the 
Rogue's  March,  while  the  whole  regiment  received 
him  with  laughter  and  shouts  of  derision.  A  court  of 
inquiry  sat  on  Stark's  conduct,  but  the  poor  paymas 
ter  having  proved  untrustworthy,  the  whole  affair 
dropped  through. 

The  next  year  he  went  with  his  regiment  to  New 
York,  but  was  soon  after  ordered  to  Albany,  to  join  the 
army  in  Canada,  and  while  on  his  way  met  it  at  St. 
John's  in  full  retreat.  Opposed  to  the  attack  on  Three 

*  The  report  proved  untrue,  and  this  son  served  as  a  staff  officer 
throughout  the  war. 

18* 


210  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

Rivers,  which  proved  so  disastrous,  he  nevertheless  took 
part  in  it  energetically  when  it  was  resolved  upon.  The 
whole  army,  forced  to  retreat,  then  fell  back  to  Ticon- 
deroga.  In  December,  his  regiment  constituted  a  part 
of  the  troops  sent  to  reinforce  Washington,  on  the 
Delaware.  Before  the  battles  of  Trenton  and  Princeton 
took  place,  the  time  for  which  his  men  had  enlisted 
expired,  but  he  persuaded  them  to  remain  six  weeks 
longer,  and  thus  had  the  honor  of  taking  part  in  those 
brilliant  victories.  Full  of  energy  and  action,  he  did 
not  like  the  prudent  and  cautious  course  pursued  by 
Washington,  and  bluntly  told  him  so,  saying,  "  You 
have  depended  a  long  time  on  spades  and  pickaxes, 
but  if  you  wish  ever  to  establish  the  independence  of 
the  country,  you  must  rely  on  fire-arms."  Washing 
ton  replied,  that  was  just  what  he  was  going  to  do. 
"  To-morrow  we  march  on  Trenton,  and  I  have  ap 
pointed  you  to  command  the  advance  guard  of  the 
right  wing." 

ASSAULT    OF    TRENTON. 

Washington,  as  stated  before,  had  retreated  before  the 
enemy,  with  his  diminished  force,  till  despair  began  to  set 
tle  on  the  country,  and  the  most  confident  had  lost  all 
hope.  It  was  now  mid- winter,  and  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  to  keep  his  destitute,  disheartened  troops  much  longer 
in  the  field.  But  to  go  into  winter-quarters  with  such  a 
cloud  on  our  prospects,  and  in  the  midst  of  such  general 
despondency  and  gloom,  was  almost  like  giving  up  the 
contest,  and  he  dared  not  do  it.  The  time  had  come 
for  desperate  action — the  gulf  he  had  struggled  so  nobly 
to  avoid,  at  length  opened  dark  and  dreadful  before  him, 


BATTLE     OF     TRENTON.  211 

and  he  turned  in  all  the  might  and  terror  of  his  great  soul, 
for  one  last  fearful  effort.  The  angry  Delaware  was 
rolling  between  him  and  the  foe,  and  once  over  its 
current  he  must  gain  the  victory  or  be  lost.  Yet  he 
resolved  to  place  his  little  army  in  a  position  so  deci 
sive  of  its  fate. 

Fifteen  hundred  Hessians  lay  at  Trenton,  while  seve 
ral  detachments  were  stationed  at  Bordentown,  Bur 
lington,  Black  Horse  and  Mount  Holly.  On  these  last, 
Cadwallader,  crossing  near  Bristol,  was  to  advance — 
Ewing  was  to  cross  a  little  below  Trenton,  while  Wash 
ington,  with  two  thousand  four  hundred  continentals,  and 
twenty  cannon,  was  to  effect  a  passage  nine  miles  above. 

On  the  night  of  the  25th  of  December,  just  at 
dusk,  Washington  was  seen  standing  with  a  whip 
in  his  hand,  on  the  shore  of  the  Delaware.  His 
horse,  saddled  and  bridled,  was  near  him,  while  all 
around  were  heard  the  rumbling  of  artillery- wagons, 
and  the  confused  sounds  of  marching  men,  and  of 
hasty  orders.  The  deep,  sullen  stream  went  swiftly 
by,  and  the  angry  heavens  betokened  a  cold  and 
stormy  night.  As  he  thus  stood  and  watched  the 
hurried  movements,  there  stole  over  his  majestic 
countenance  a  look  of  inexpressible  solemnity.  Before 
morning  the  fate  of  that  gallant  army  would  be  fixed, 
and  the  next  rising  sun  would  shine  down  on  his  coun 
try  lifted  from  its  depth  of  despondency,  or  sunk  still 
deeper  in  ruin.  Aj:housand  forebodings,  like  grim  sha 
dows,  came  stealing  over  his  soul,  saddening  his  heart, 
but  not  shaking  the  unalterable  purpose  he  had  taken. 

There  is  but  little  doubt  that  he  had  resolved  never 
to  survive  defeat.  In  that  last  throw  of  the  die  he 


212  MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

had  cast  his  life,  and  meant  to  save  the  vessel  or  go  down 
with  the  wreck.  As  he  thus  stood  wrapped  in  thought, 
Wilkinson  approached  him  with  a  letter  from  Gates. 
This  roused  him,  and  fixing  on  the  officer  a  stern  look, 
he  exclaimed,  "  What  a  time  is  this  to  hand  me  letters  /" 
What  a  flood  of  light  does  this  single  expression  throw 
on  the  state  of  his  mind  at  that  moment.  Events  big 
with  the  fate  of  the  army  and  the  nation  were  crowd 
ing  to  their  development,  and  his  soul  was  absorbed  in 
their  contemplation. 

At  length  the  boats  were  launched  amid  the  floating 
ice,  and  were  soon  struggling  in  the  centre  of  the 
stream.  The  night  was  dark  and  cold — the  wTind 
swept  by  in  gusts,  and  amid  the  roar  of  the  water  and 
crushing  of  the  ice  were  heard  the  loud  words  of 
command,  and  shouts  and  oaths  of  the  men.  The 
boats  forced  back  and  downwards  by  the  icy  frag 
ments,  became  scattered  in  the  gloom  and  thrown 
into  confusion,  and  would  scarcely  have  effected  a  land 
ing  in  time,  but  for  Knox,  who,  standing  on  the  farther 
shore,  kept  shouting  through  the  darkness  with  his  sten 
torian  voice,  thus  indicating  the  point  for  which  they 
were  to  steer.  There  too  stood  Washington,  hour  after 
hour,  with  that  same  strangely  calm,  yet  determined 
face,  while  his  soul  was  racked  with  anxiety  as  the 
night  waned  rapidly  away,  and  his  distracted  army  still 
struggled  in  the  midst  of  the  icy  stream.  All  night 
long  did  he  stand  there  on  the  frozen^hore  urging  on  his 
weary  troops — now  looking  anxiously  at  his  watch,  and 
now  striving  to  pierce  the  gloom  that  covered  the  water. 
At  length  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  columns 
got  under  way  and  pressed  rapidly  forward.  Sulli- 


BATTLE     OF     TRENTON.  213 

van,  with  one  column,  took  the  road  beside  the  river, 
while  Washington,  with  Greene,  led  the  other  along  a 
road  a  little  farther  from  the  shore.     Their  plan  was,  to 
enter  Trenton  at  different  points  at  the  same  time.     It 
was  still  dark,  and  just  then,  as  if  in  harmony  with  the 
scene,  a  storm  of  snow  and  hail  arose,  driving  full  in 
the  soldiers'  faces.     Their  clothes  were  soaked  with 
wet,  and  the  muskets,  many  of  them,  rendered  unfit  for 
use.     When    Sullivan    discovered    this,    he  turned  in 
alarm  to  St.  Glair,  and  asked  what  should  be  done, 
and   immediately   dispatched   an   aid  to  Washington, 
with   the   disheartening   intelligence.     "  Advance  and 
charge  /"  was  the*stern  and  only  reply  of  the  chief 
tain,  and  the  silent  columns  pushed  resolutely  onward. 
Captain  Forest  was  in  advance  with  the  artillery,  and 
Washington  rode  by  his  side.     At  daylight*  they  ap 
proached  Trenton,  when  the  latter  seeing  a  country 
man  chopping  wood  in  front  of  his  door,  asked  him 
where  the  Hessian  picket  lay.     The  man  replied,  he 
did  not  know.     Said  Forest,  "  You  may  tell,  for  it  is 
Washington  who  addresses  you."     Overcome  by  his 
feelings,  the  poor  man  suddenly  lifted  his  hands  and 
exclaimed,  "  God  bless  and  prosper  you,  sir."     He  then 
pointed  to  the  house,  some  distance  off,  in  which  the 
picket  was  placed,  and  to  a  tree  near  by  it,  where  the 
sentry  stood.      Washington  immediately  ordered  the 
guns  to  be  unlimbered,  and  the  whole  column  to  ad 
vance.     Still  riding  in  front,  where  the  first  volley 
must  fall,  his  friends  became  alarmed  for  his  safety,  and 
again  and  again  besought  him  to  fall  back  to  a  place 
of  greater  security.     But  he  took  no  notice  of  their 
appeals,  and  with  the  storm  beating  furiously  on  his 


214          MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

noble  brow,  and  every  lineament  of  his  countenance 
revealing  the  unalterable  purpose  of  his  soul,  rode 
sternly  forward  amid  the  guns.  The  thunder  of  can 
non  was  now  heard  through  the  storm  from  Sullivan's 
division,  and  Stark,  with  the  advance  guard,  had  al 
ready  broken  into  the  streets,  and  with  his  battle-shout 
waked  the  Hessians  from  their  dream  of  security. 
Captain  Forest's  artillery  then  opened  and  swept  the 
streets.  The  smoke  of  the  guns  curled  around  the 
form  of  Washington,  as  still  beside  them  he  moved  on, 
and  calmly  pointed  out  to  the  artillerists  the  different 
objects  on  which  the  fire  should  be  directed.  All  now 
was  confusion — the  clattering  of  flying  horsemen  sound 
ed  through  the  streets,  officers  hurried  to  and  fro  to 
rally  their  men,  and  shouts  and  cries  rung  through  the 
air  in  every  direction.  Just  then  the  enemy  wheeled 
two  cannon  into  the  street  up  which  the  column  of 
Washington  was  advancing.  Young  Monroe,  after 
wards  President  of  the  United  States,  and  a  Captain 
Washington,  immediately  sprung  forward  with  their 
men  ;  and  though  the  lighted  matches  were  already 
descending  on  the  pieces,  charged  up  to  the  very  muz 
zles,  and  took  them.  When  the  smoke  lifted,  these  two 
gallant  officers  were  both  seen  reclining  in  the  arms  of 
their  followers,  wounded,  though  not  mortally.  All  this 
time  Stark  was  dealing  death  around  him.  Bearing 
down  all  opposition,  he  kept  on  his  terrible  way,  shouting 
as  he  went,  till  the  enemy,  confused  and  terrified,  struck 
their  flags.  Washington  had  just  ordered  his  column 
to  push  on  more  rapidly,  when  one  of  his  officers  cried 
out,  "  Their  flags  are  struck."  Looking  up  in  surprise, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Struck  !  so  they  are"  and  spurring  into 


LEAVES     THE     ARMY.  215 

a  gallop,  dashed  forward.  He  had  conquered ;  and 
with  a  brightened  brow  he  turned  to  one  of  his  officers, 
and  grasping  his  hand,  exclaimed,  "  This  is  a  glorious 
day  for  our  country"  A  thousand  prisoners,  six  brass 
field-pieces,  and  a  thousand  stand  of  arms  were  the 
fruits  of  this  victory.  The  divisions  under  Cadwalla- 
der  and  Ewing  had  both  been  unable  to  effect  a  pas 
sage,  on  account  of  the  ice,  or  else  the  overthrow 
would  have  been  complete,  and  Washington  been  able 
to  have  pushed  on.  As  it  was,  the  hazard  was  too 
great,  and  so  he  recrossed  the  Delaware  the  same  day 
with  his  prisoners,  and  returned  to  his  camp. 

Stark  was  beside  Washington  in  the  short  but  terrible 
conflict  at  Princeton,  and  he  remained  with  him  till  the 
arrny  retired  to  winter-quarters  at  Morristown,  and 
then  returned  to  New  Hampshire  on  a  recruiting 
expedition.  Having  filled  his  regiment,  he  repaired 
to  Exeter  to  receive  orders,  where  he  learned  that 
several  junior  officers  had  been  promoted,  and  himself 
left  out  of  the  list.  Indignant,  like  Arnold,  at  this  act 
of  injustice,  and  outrage  upon  his  feelings,  he  threw  up 
his  commission  and  retired  from  the  army.  Efforts 
were  made  to  induce  him  to  postpone  his  decision,  but 
he  indignantly  rejected  every  offer,  declaring  that  an 
officer  who  would  tamely  submit  to  such  indignity,  was 
not  fit  to  be  trusted.  Here,  at  the  outset,  Congress  by 
its  partiality,  favoritism,  and  gross  injustice,  offended 
two  of  the  best  officers  in  the  American  army,  and  it  is 
a  wonder  it  did  not  carry  its  blindness  and  folly  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  ruin  the  cause  of  freedom.  But,  though 
indignant  with  Congress,  Stark  lost  none  of  his  love 
for  his  country.  His  patriotism  and  integrity  were 


MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

above  the  reach  of  insult,  and  though  his  honor  forbade 
him  to  serve  in  disgrace,  it  did  not  prevent  him  from 
sending  his  sons,  one  after  another,  into  battle.  His 
noble  spirit  would  not  submit  to  wrong,  yet  it  was  su 
perior  to  revenge.  Neither  did  he  bury  his  disappoint 
ment  and  chagrin  in  moody  indifference,  but  was  alive 
to  every  thing  that  touched  the  welfare  of  his  country  ; 
so  that  when  Burgoyne's  army  began  its  invasion  of 
the  States,  and  Ticonderoga  was  evacuated,  we  find 
him  at  the  head  of  the  New  Hampshire  men,  a  general 
of  brigade.  The  militia  of  the  whole  State  was  divided 
into  two  brigades,  one  of  which  Whipple  commanded, 
and  the  other  Stark.  Portions  of  both  of  these  forces 
were  selected  to  march  to  the  frontier  under  the  latter. 
But  he,  still  cherishing  the  remembrance  of  his  wrongs, 
refused  to  accept  this  command,  except  on  the  condi 
tion  he  should  not  be  compelled  to  join  the  main  army ; 
for  he  was  fully  resolved  not  to  serve  under  the  or 
ders  of  a  Congress  which  had  treated  him  with  such 
injustice. 

Rallying  around  their  favorite  leader,  the  militia 
came  pouring  in  from  every  quarter.  Concentrating 
his  forces  at  Manchester,  twenty  miles  north  of  Ben- 
nington,  where  Colonel  Warner  with  his  Massachu 
setts  men  was  posted,  he  immediately  set  about  the 
work  assigned  him.  General  Schuyler  ordered  him  to 
lead  his  troops  to  the  Hudson,  to  be  placed  under  gen 
eral  orders.  This  he  stubbornly  refused  to  do,  de 
claring  that  he  had  accepted  the  command  on  condition 
that  he  should  operate  independently.  His  reply  was 
sent  to  Congress,  and  that  body  condemned  emphati 
cally  his  course,  declaring  it  destructive  "  of  military 


BATTE     OF     BENNINGTON  217 

subordination,  and  prejudicial  to  the  common  cause." 
This  they  should  have  thought  of  before,  and  /emen.« 
bered  also  that  one  wrong  always  engenders,  another 
and  that  the  present  "insubordination"  was  wholly 
owing  to  their  meanness  and  folly,  back  of  which  they 
must  come  before  they  could  expect  harmony  and  suc 
cess.  All  this  condemnation  Stark  had  foreseen  and 
despised.  Stubborn  and  independent,  he  would  not 
yield  one  jot  from  his  purpose  ;  and  although  in  a  mili 
tary  point  of  view  he  was  right  in  the  course  he  took, 
and  as  the  event  proved,  acted  with  the  soundest  judg 
ment,  yet  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  he  would  have 
done  differently  had  it  been  otherwise.  It  is  a  favorite 
policy  with  public  bodies  to  place  men  in  such  a  posi 
tion,  that  they  must  either  subject  themselves  to  cen 
sure  or  sanction  injustice.  But  Stark  was  not  the  man 
to  be  thus  buffeted  about 

BATTLE    OF    BENNINGTON. 

About  the  time  that  he  arrived  at  Bennington,  Colo 
nel  Baum,  in  accordance  with  the  instructions  of  Bur- 
goyne,  had  commenced  his  march  through  Vermont. 
On  the  14th  of  August  Stark  set  out  in  search  of 
the  enemy,  and  had  advanced  but  four  or  five  miles 
when  he  met  Colonel  Gregg,  whom  he  had  sent  forward 
in  advance  to  attack  some  Indians,  in  full  retreat,  and 
Baum  with  six  hundred  men  close  at  his  heels.  He 
immediately  ordered  a  halt,  and  formed  in  order  of 
battle.  Colonel  Baum,  seeing  the  American  troops 
prepared  to  receive  him,  also  came  to  a  halt,  and  choos 
ing  out  a  strong  position,  began  to  intrench  himself. 

VOL.  i.  19 


218  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

Stark  perceiving  this,  fell  back  to  wait  for  reinforce 
ments,  and  arrange  his  plan  of  attack.  The  next  morn 
ing  it  rained,  and  all  day  long  the  dark  and  heavy  clouds 
discharged  themselves  on  the  earth  in  such  torrents 
that  the  army  could  not  move.  Baum  improved  this 
respite  to  complete  his  intrenchments  and  send  to  Bur- 
goyne  for  aid,  which  was  immediately  dispatched  under 
Colonel  Breyman.  On  the  morning  of  the  16th  the 
clouds  broke  away,  and  the  warm  August  sun  began 
to  climb  the  heavens.  Before  daylight,  a  clergyman,* 
who  had  accompanied  the  militia  of  Berkshire  to  the 
scene  of  action,  came  to  Stark,  telling  him  that  the 
people  of  Berkshire  had  often  been  summoned  to  the 
field  without  being  allowed  to  fight,  and  that  if  he  did 
not  now  give  them  a  chance,  they  had  resolved  never  to 
turn  out  again.  "  Well,"  said  Stark,  "  do  you  wish  to 
march  now,  while  it  is  dark  and  raining  ?"  "  No/'  re 
plied  the  sturdy  and  fearless  divine.  "  Then,"  said 
the  former,  "  if  the  Lord  will  once  more  give  us  sun 
shine,  and  I  do  not  give  you  fighting  enough,  I'll  never 
ask  you  to  come  out  again."  The  Lord  did  give  them 
sunshine,  and  the  morning  drum  roused  up  the  sol 
diers  to  as  beautiful  a  day  as  ever  blessed  the  world, 
and  the  worthy  minister  had  his  wish  gratified.  The 
fields  were  smiling  in  summer  verdure,  while  the  green 
trees  glistened  with  the  rain-drops,  that  lay  like  a 
shower  of  pearls  on  their  foliage.  The  gentle  stream 
that  wound  away  from  their  encampment,  sparkled  in 
the  early  sunbeams,  and  the  birds  sung  along  its  banks. 
But  the  roll  of  drums  and  the  marching  of  men  soon 
drove  every  tranquil  thought  from  the  heart,  for  that 
*  Rev.  Mr.  Allen,  of  Pittsfield. 


BATTLE     OF     BENNINGTON.  219 

sweet  summer  day  was  to  end  in  blood  and  carnage. 
The  British  troops  were  encamped  on  a  hill  in  a  bend 
of  the  Wollmsac  stream,  on  whose  banks  Stark  and 
his  band  of  patriots  stood.  A  part  of  their  forces  was 
intrenched  on  the  further  side  of  the  stream,  opposite  the 
hill,  the  same  side  on  which  the  Americans  had  been 
encamped,  only  a  mile  distant.  A  battery  had  been 
erected  on  the  hill,  and  there  too  stood,  in  stern  array, 
the  heavy-armed  German  dragoons.  Stark  having  re 
solved  on  his  plan  of  attack,  sent  Colonel  Nichols  with 
two  hundred  men  to  the  rear  of  the  enemy's  left,  and 
Colonel  Herrick  with  three  hundred  to  the  rear  of  their 
right,  with  orders  to  join  their  forces  as  they  came  up, 
and  rush  furiously  to  the  assault.  Colonels  Hubbard 
and  Stickney,  with  three  hundred  more,  were  directed 
to  move  down  and  make  a  demonstration  in  front,  in 
order  to  distract  the  enemy's  attention  till  the  other 
troops  could  perform  their  circuitous  march  in  the  rear, 
and  be  upon  them.  Stark,  with  the  rest  of  the  forces, 
kept  slowly  down  the  stream,  towards  that  portion  of 
the  British  intrenched  on  the  flat  opposite  the  battery. 
The  little  stream  which  murmured  on,  all  unconscious 
of  the  bloody  strife  that  was  to  darken  its  waters,  flowed 
in  such  a  serpentine  course  that  the  line  of  march 
crossed  it  twice,  though  the  point  of  attack  was  on  the 
same  shore  from  which  the  army  started.  Soon  after 
mid-day  the  troops  were  put  in  motion,  and  the  col 
umns  moved  off  to  their  respective  destinations.  That 
which  Stark  commanded  in  person  followed  the 
stream — now  winding  along  the  banks,  and  now 
splashing  through  its  shallow  bed,  while  the  thrilling 
strains  of  martial  music  filled  every  bosom  with  excite- 


220  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

ment  and  daring.    Stark,  slowly  riding  along,  suddenly 
turned  his  head  as  the  report  of  a  heavy  volley  of  mus 
ketry  broke  over  the  columns,  and  then  the  fierce  com 
mand,  "  Forward  !"   ran  along  the  ranks.     He,  knew 
.hat  his  brave  troops  were  upon  the  enemy  in  rear,  and 
nis  whole  command  was  hastened    forward.     As   he 
reined  in  his  steed,  and  cast  his  eye  along  the  column, 
its  movements  seemed  tardy  to  his  impatient  spirit,  and 
he  could  hardly  restrain  his  eagerness.     Soon  a  bend 
of  the  stream  revealed  the  whole  scene  to  his  view. 
The  solitary  hill  on  which  the  enemy  were  intrenched, 
was  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  while  below,  in 
advance  of  him,  stood  the  remaining  troops  in  battle 
array.     As  soon  as  his  eye  fell  upon  them,  his  counte 
nance  kindled  up,  and  leaning  forward  in  his  saddle, 
with    his    brow  sternly  knit,  he  pointed   them  out  to 
his  soldiers  with  his   sword,  saying,  "  See  there  men ! 
there  are  the  red-coats.     Before  night  the.y  are   ours, 
or  Molly  Stark  's   a  widow."     A   loud  and    cheering 
shout  was  the  reply,  and  the  whole  column  pushed  rap 
idly  on.    The  next  moment  the   cannon  opened  on  the 
dense  ranks,  but  nothing  could  stop  the  now  thoroughly 
excited   troops.      Pressing   close    after  their   intrepid 
leader,  they  poured  a  destructive  volley  into  the  enemy, 
and  then  rushing  forward   with  terrible  impetuosity, 
swept  the  whole   detachment   across  the   stream    be 
hind   the    batteries.       Then   commenced    one    of    the 
hottest  fires  of  musketry  ever  witnessed  among   the 
same  number  of  troops.     Stark  had  not  a  single  can 
non  and  scarce  a  bayonet,  and  yet  his  men  charged  up 
to  the  mouth  of  the  battery,  and  rushed  on  the  intrench- 
ments  with  the  steadiness  of  veterans.     That  little  hill 


THE     BATTLE.  221 

was  wrapped  in  flame,  and  the  two  armies,  now  within 
a  few  yards  of  each  other,  delivered  their  fire  with 
such  "  constancy  and  swiftness,  it  was  as  if  the  whole  air 
had  become  an  element  of  fire  in  the  summer  gloaming 
there."  The  incessant  vollies  were,  for  two  dreadful 
hours,  like  the  ceaseless  roll  of  a  thousand  drums,  or  as 
Stark  said  in  his  dispatch,  "  like  a  continued  clap  of 
thunder"  The  smoke  fell  like  a  mighty  mantle  over 
the  hill  and  over  the  combatants,  while  in  its  bosom 
rung  that  incessant  explosion,  telling  of  the  mortal 
struggle  there.  Stark's  horse  sunk  under  him,  but,  with 
his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  he  still  strode  steadily 
through  his  thinned  ranks,  cheering  them  on  to  the 
final  assault.  The  heavy  German  dragoons,  tried  in 
many  a  conflict,  still  stand  with  unbroken  array,  and 
their  intrepid  leader,  who  has  fought  worthy  of  a  bet 
ter  cause,  has  placed  himself  at  their  head,  to  make 
one  more  desperate  effort  for  victory.  Those  vete 
rans  have  thrown  away  their  muskets,  and  with  drawn 
sabres  rush  in  one  unbroken  mass  on  the  foe.  A 
wasting  volley  receives  them,  and  shattered  to  pieces, 
with  their  leader  left  mortally  wounded  on  the  field, 
they  break  and  fly.  Over  the  cannon  and  over  the 
breastwork  the  excited,  maddened,  shouting  Americans, 
go  in  one  overwhelming  stream,  and  the  field  is  won. 

But  no  sooner  was  the  hill  cleared  of  the  enemy, 
than  the  soldiers  dispersed  on  every  side  in  search  of 
plunder.  While  in  this  disordered  state,  word  was 
brought  that  a  large  British  reinforcement,  under 
Colonel  Breyman,  only  two  miles  distant,  was  rapidly 
coming  up.  The  rain  which  had  kept  the  Americans  in 
camp,  had  also  retarded  his  march — his  cannon  had 
19* 


MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

stuck  in  the  mud,  and  the  roads  been  rendered  so  bad, 
that  he  could  not  arrive  in  time  for  the  battle.  In  this 
critical  juncture  Stark  endeavored  to  rally  his  men. 
He  hastened  hither  and  thither  over  the  field,  but  be 
fore  he  could  restore  order,  the  army  of  Baum,  finding 
help  at  hand,  wheeled  about,  and  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  sound  of  cannon  operated  like  an  elec 
tric  shock  on  the  disbanded  troops,  and  they  rallied 
with  wonderful  alacrity  to  their  respective  standards. 
The  sun  was  now  just  sinking  in  the  west,  and  his 
farewell  beams  fell  mournfully  on  that  lonely  hill-top, 
over  which  cannon,  drums,  broken  muskets  and 
neglected  sabres,  and  bloody  uniforms  were  scattered 
thick  as  autumn  leaves. 

The  fresh  troops  of  the  British  having  now  arrived 
on  the  field,  rushed,  with  furious  shouts,  to  the  combat, 
and  pressed  the.  disordered  Americans  with  such  vigor, 
that  the  day,  so  nobly  battled  for  and  won,  seemed 
about  to  be  lost.  They  were  driven  from  one  hill  to 
another,  and  post  after  post  was  carried,  till  symptoms  of 
disorder,  and  a  sudden  flight,  were  visible  in  the  ranks. 
But  at  this  critical  moment  the  Berkshire  militia,  who 
had  arrived  that  morning  before  daylight,  and  till 
now  stayed  behind  to  dry  their  ammunition  and  pre 
pare  for  battle,  came  up.  Hastening  to  these  fresh 
troops,  Stark  bade  their  colonel  lead  them  instantly 
to  the  attack.  The  brave  fellows  charged  almost  on  a 
run,  and  the  British  ranks  were  again  broken,  and  the 
discomfited  troops  became  a  herd  of  fugitives,  fleeing 
through  the  twilight.  The  fire  of  the  pursuing  Ameri 
cans  for  a  while  lighted  up  the  gloom,  and  then  dark 
ness  and  silence  fell  over  the  scene.  Joy  and  glad- 


A  P  P  E  C  T  I  X  G     INCIDENT.  223 

ness  reigned  through  the  American  camp,  and  the 
shout  of  victory  which  there  rung  on  the  night-air 
was  only  the  prelude  to  a  still  loftier  one,  that  was 
soon  to  ascend  from  the  plains  of  Saratoga.* 

The  militia  behaved  nobly  this  day,  and  the  spirit 
of  resistance  was  strengthened  in  every  bosom.  One 
old  farmer  had  five  sons  in  the  battle,  and  when  it  was 
over  a  friend  came  to  him  and  said,  sorrowfully,  "  I 
have  sad  news  for  you."  "  What  is  it,"  replied  the 
fathe-r ;  "  have  my  sons  run  away  from  the  fight  ?" 
"  No,"  replied  the  friend,  "  but  one  is  dead."  "  Bring 
him  to  me,"  said  the  old  man,  without  changing  his 
countenance.  The  youthful,  athletic  form  of  his  boy 
was  laid  before  him.  Not  a  tear  dimmed  the  parent's 
eye,  as  he  wiped  the  blood  from  the  ghastly  wounds, 
and  the  dust  from  his  pallid  face.  "  It  was  the  happiest 
day  of  his  life,"  he  said,  "  to  know  that  his  five  sons 
had  fought  nobly  for  freedom,  even  though  one  had 
fallen  on  the  altar  of  his  country."  A  country  filled 
with  such  fathers  and  sons  the  world  could  not  conquer. 

This  victory  did  not  make  Stark  forget  his  wrongs, 

*  A  curious  anecdote  is  related  of  this  battle,  so  characteristic  of 
our  revolutionary  struggle,  that  I  give  it.  When  the  Berkshire  mili 
tia  reached  the  scene  of  action,  Stark  rode  up  to  the  regiment  in  hot 
haste,  and  ordered  the  captain  to  lead  his  men  to  the  attack.  But  he 
very  coolly  replied,  "Where  's  the  colonel?  (Colonel  Warner.)  I  want 
to  see  him  first/'  The  colonel  was  immediately  sent  for,  when  the 
captain  exclaimed,  in  a  nasal  tone,  "  Well,  colonel,  what  do  you  want 
I  should  do  ?"  u  Drive  those  red-coats  from  the  hill  yonder."  "  Well," 
said  he,  "  it  shall  be  done  ;';  and  the  last  that  was  seen  of  them  till 
they  shouted  victory  was  their  long,  awkward  coat-tails,  sticking 
straight  out  behind,  as  they  disappeared,  almost  on  a  run,  in  the 
smoke  of  'Ho  volley  that  received  them. 


224  MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

and  as  Congress  had  treated  him  with  utter  neglect, 
he  would  not  deign  to  make  any  report  of  the  battle 
to  it.  That  body,  at  length  forced  by  circumstances, 
as  in  the  case  of  Arnold,  to  acknowledge  its  injustice, 
sent  him  the  appointment  of  brigadier-general  in  the 
continental  army.  Honor,  conferred  so  grudgingly, 
and  rendered  only  on  compulsion,  adds  no  glory  to  the 
donors.  Previous  to  this,  however,  Stark — after  re 
maining  a  month  at  Bennington,  receiving  reinforce 
ments  of  militia — had  joined  Gates  at  Saratoga.  But 
the  men  were  discontented,  as  they  had  enlisted  un 
der  the  condition  they  were  to  have  no  commander 
beside  Stark,  and  their  term  of  service  expiring  on 
'the  18th  of  September,  they  started  for  home.  Stark 
finding  his  persuasions  of  no  avail,  departed  with  them. 
He  had  not  yet  heard  of  his  promotion,  and  as  he 
would  be  without  any  command  in  the  continental 
army,  soon  as  his  own  troops  left,  he  had  no  motive 
to  remain.  But  the  next  morning,  as  the  thunder  of 
the  artillery  that  opened  the  first  battle  of  Bemis's 
Heights,  came  rolling  by,  many  turned  back.  The 
firing,  however,  ceasing  again,  they  continued  their 
march.  Everywhere  Stark  was  received  with  ac 
clamations,  and  the  militia  were  ready,  in  any  numbers, 
to  enroll  themselves  in  his  army.  Soon  after  he  re 
ceived  his  commission  of  brigadier-general.  This  took 
off  the  weight  which  had  lain  so  long  on  his  brave 
heart,  and  he  entered  with  all  the  energy  and  resolution 
that  distinguished  him  into  the  service.  He  raised  a 
large  force,  and  threw  it  in  rear  of  Burgoyne,  so  that  he 
could  not  retreat  towards  Canada ;  and  tKi«  "endered 
efficient  aid  to  Gate* 


HIS     LAST     DAYS.  225 

In  1778,  he  was  appointed  over  the  northern  army, 
and  stationed  at  Albany.  During  the  summer  he  was 
ordered  to  Rhode  Island  to  join  General  Gates,  and 
took  up  his  quarters  at  East  Greenwich.  In  the  win 
ter  he  returned  to  his  native  state  to  raise  recruits. 
The  spring  found  him  again  at  his  post,  where  he  dis 
charged  his  duties  with  ability  and  promptness.  In 
the  fall  both  he  and  Gates  were  ordered  to  join  Wash 
ington  in  New  Jersey.  While  the  army  was  in  win 
ter-quarters,  he  was  again  sent  to  New  England  to 
hasten  on  the  new  levies.  Having  rejoined  the  army 
in  the  spring,  he  soon  after  returned  to  New  England  to 
obtain  reinforcements  for  West  Point.  Having  accom 
plished  his  business,  he  proceeded  to  New  Jersey,  from 
whence  he  was  sent  in  September  to  West  Point  to 
relieve  St.  Clair.  While  here,  he  sat  in  court-martia. 
on  Andre.  He  asked  for  a  furlough  during  the  winter, 
in  order  to  recruit  his  health,  which  began  to  give  way 
under  the  tremendous  strains  he  had  made  so  long  on 
his  constitution.  The  next  spring,  1781,  he  was  ap 
pointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  northern  depart 
ment,  and  made  Saratoga  his  head-quarters.  During 
these  four  years,  though  engaged  in  no  battle,  his  du 
ties  were  complicated  and  onerous,  and  often  very  an 
noying,  yet  he  performed  them  all  with  that  integrity 
which  had  characterized  his  eventful  life. 

He  was  at  Saratoga  when  the  news  of  the  surrender 

of  Cornwallis  went  in  one  protracted  shout  over  the 

country.     He  remained  quiet  after  this,  till  called,  in 

1783,  to  head-quarters,  by  order  of  Washington,  and 

hen  threw  the  whole  weight  of  his  character  against 

hose  <*  visions  and  incipient  conspiracies  among  the  offi- 


MAJOR     GENERAL     STARK. 

cers,  which  threatened  seriously  to  overthrow  the  fab 
ric  erected  at  the  cost  of  so  much  blood  and  treasure. 
After  the  disbanding  of  the  army,  he  returned  to  his 
nome,  and  at  the  age  of  fifty-five  became  a  sober 
farmer  and  quiet  citizen.  Here  he  lived  in  retirement, 
and  like  a  good  ship  which  has  long  braved  the  storm, 
and  at  last  is  left  to  crumble  slowly  away  in  a  peaceful 
port ;  gently  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  years  and  the 
decay  of  age.  With  his  white  locks  falling  around  his 
strongly-marked  visage,  he  would  while  away  many  a 
long  winter  evening  in  relating  to  his  children  and 
grandchildren  the  adventures  of  his  early  life.  The 
roar  of  the  blast  without  would  remind  him  of  his  wild 
bivouacs  when  a  bold  young  ranger,  amid  the  snow  in 
the  wilderness,  and  the  strange  events  of  his  stormy 
career  come  back  like  an  ancient  dream  on  his  stagger 
ing  memory.  Eighty-four  years  of  age  when  the  Last 
War  commenced,  he  listened  to  the  far-off  roar  of  bat 
tle  like  an  old  war-horse  whose  spirit  is  unbroken,  but 
whose  energies  are  gone.  When  he  was  told  that  the 
cannon  he  had  taken  at  Bennington  were  among  the 
trophies  surrendered  by  Hull  in  the  capitulation  at 
Detroit,  he  evinced  the  greatest  emotion.  He  mourned 
for  "  his  guns"  as  he  was  wont  to  call  them,  as  if  they 
had  been  his  children.  They  had  become  a  part  of 
his  existence,  associated  in  his  old  age  with  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  events  of  his  life,  and  it  was  like  robbing 
him  to  take  away  the  monuments  of  his  fame.  He 
longed  once  more  for  the  energy  of  youth  to  take  the 
field  again,  but  the  thread  of  life  was  drawing  to  its 
last  span,  and  his  battles  were  all  over.  Still  he  lived 


HIS     CHARACTER.  227 

ten  years  longer,  and  at  the  age  of  ninety-four  rested 
from  his  labors. 


HIS    CHARACTER. 

General  Stark  was  a  man  of  strong  character,  frank 
even  to  bluntness,  and  both  stern  and  kind.  Indepen 
dent,  yet  fearless,  he  yielded  neither  to  friend  nor  foe. 
In  youth,  an  adventurous  woodsman — in  manhood,  a 
bold  ranger,  and  in  maturer  years  an  able  and  skilful 
commander,  he  passed  through  his  long  career  without 
a  spot  on  his  name.  Few  lives  are  marked  by  greater 
adventure,  yet  amid  all  his  perils — through  two  long 
wars,  and  in  many  battles,  though  exposing  himself 
like  the  meanest  soldier  in  the  fight,  he  never  received 
a  wound. 

He  was  a  good  commander,  and  showed  himself 
in  every  position  equal  to  its  demands.  He  loved  ac 
tion,  and  was  at  home  on  the  battle-field.  Charles  XII. 
was  his  favorite  hero,  and  he  always  carried  his  life  with 
him  in  his  campaigns.  The  stern  and  resolute  charac 
ter  of  this  chivalric  king  harmonized  with  his  own,  and 
he  made  the  history  of  his  deeds  his  constant  com 
panion.  He  possessed,  to  a  great  degree,  one  of  the 
most  important  qualities  of  an  efficient  and  successful 
officer — wonderful  power  over  his  troops.  We  never 
hear  of  the  militia  fleeing  from  him  in  battle.  At  Bun 
ker's  Hill,  at  Bennington,  at  Trenton,  and  Princeton, 
they  followed  him  without  hesitation  into  any  danger, 
and  were  steady  as  veterans  beneath  the  most  galling 
fire.  This  moral  power  over  troops  is  the  battle  half 
gained  before  it  is  fought,  and  shows  a  character  pos- 


228          MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 

sessed  of  great  strength,  or  some  brilliant  striking 
quality.  His  eccentricities  and  bluntness  no  doubt 
pleased  his  men,  but  it  was  his  determined  courage, 
confidence  in  his  own  resources,  and  amazing  power 
of  will,  that  gave  him  such  unbounded  influence  over 
them.  But  his  greatest  eulogy  is,  he  was  an  incorrup 
tible  patriot.  No  neglect  or  wrong  could  swerve  his 
just  and  noble  soul  from  the  path  of  duty,  and  though 
honor  forbade  him  for  a  while  from  serving  in  the 
army,  he  fitted  out  his  sons,  one  after  another,  and  sent 
them  into  the  field.  How  different  from  the  conduct 
of  Arnold  ! 

He  was  borne  to  his  grave  with  military  honors,  and 
now  sleeps  on  the  shores  of  the  Merrimac,  where  the 
river  takes  a  long  and  steady  sweep,  revealing  his  tomb 
for  miles  up  and  down  the  quiet  valley.  He  was  bu 
ried  here  at  his  own  request,  and  it  seems  a  fit  resting- 
place  for  the  bold  and  independent  patriot.  As  his 
glance  was  free  and  open  in  life,  so  his  grave  is 
where  the  winds  of  his  native  land  have  full  play,  and 
the  vision  full  scope.  A  plain  granite  obelisk  stands 
above  his  remains,  on  which  is  inscribed  simply, 
MAJOR  GENERAL  STARK. 


i>  (D  Dfl  OJJ 


VI. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

His  Early  Life — Noble  Conduct  as  Member  of  the  Provincial  Assem 
bly  of  New  York — Appointed  over  the  Expedition  to  Canada — His 
Complicated  Services — Evacuates  Fort  Edward— Murder  of  Jane 
McCrea — Battle  of  Oriskany — Relief  of  Fort  Schuyler — Is  super 
seded  by  Gates — His  Noble  Conduct  under  it— Resigns  his  Com 
mand — His  Political  Career — His  Death  and  Character. 

PHILIP  SCHUYLER  was  the  son  of  John  Schuyler, 
and  born  at  Albany,  in  1733.  He  was  a  branch  of  the 
Dutch  family  by  that  name,  so  conspicuous  in  our  early 
history.  His  early  education  was  good,  and  he  ex 
celled  in  knowledge  .of  the  exact  sciences,  especially 
mathematics,  which  afterwards  rendered  him  so  useful 
as  a  civil  and  military  engineer.  He  was  elected 
captain  in  the  New  York  levies,  at  Fort  Edward,  in 
1755,  and  was  with  Lord  Howe  in  his  ill-fated  expedi 
tion  against  Ticonderoga,  and  after  the  death  of  that 
gallant  nobleman,  was  commissioned  to  bear  the 
body  to  Albany.  In  1764  he  took  a  decisive  part, 
as  member  of  the  Assembly,  against  the  encroach 
ments  of  English  tyranny.  Bold,  determined,  and 
full  of  integrity  and  honor,  he  denounced  oppression 
without  fear;  and  though  he  and  his  friends  were 
a  minority  in  the  house,  they  defended  their  position 
with  such  spirit  and  eloquence  and  truth,  that  they 

VOL.   (.  20 


230  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

fairly  broke  down  the  majority.  Schuyler  and  Clin 
ton  were  the  chief  props  of  the  cause  of  the  colo 
nies,  and  right  nobly  did  they  maintain  it.  The  former 
moved  and  carried  resolutions  declaring  that  the  op 
pressive  acts  of  George  III.  were  great  grievances. 
In  that  momentous  crisis,  when  everything  depended 
on  the  union  of  the  different  states,  and  it  was  of  the 
highest  importance  that  New  York  should  take  sides 
with  her  sister  provinces,  Schuyler's  voice  was  loud, 
and  his  appeals  resistless  for  the  right.  In  the  very 
commencement  of  that  tremendous  struggle  for  prin 
ciple,  when  it  required  more  courage  and  more  patri 
otism  to  take  the  part  of  the  colonists  against  the  go 
vernment,  and  involved  greater  losses  and  greater  dis 
grace  than  ever  afterwards,  Schuyler  was  firm  as  a 
rock.  His  reputation  and  his  fortune  he  considered  as 
nothing  in  the  scale.  It  was  owing  to  his  influence  and 
that  of  Clinton  and  Woodhull,  that  New  York  wheeled 
into  the  rank  with  Massachusetts  and  Virginia,  and 
thus  consolidated  forever  the  glorious  Union. 

Everything  now  tended  towards  a  revolution;  yet 
Schuyler  did  not  falter  in  the  course  he  had  taken.  One 
of  that  immortal  band  who  seemed  borne  up  by  some  hid 
den  energy,  and  carried  forward  by  an  irresistible  im 
pulse,  towards  the  daring  attitude  we  finally  assumed,  he 
fixes  himself  in  our  affections,  and  binds  us  to  him  with 
that  reverence  that  no  time  nor  circumstances  can 
change.  A  member  of  the  second  continental  Con 
gress,  he  is  found  on  the  committee  with  Washington 
to  prepare  rules  and  regulations  for  the  army.  Ap 
pointed  by  that  body  one  of  the  first  major  generals, 
he  immediately  took  the  field,  and  prepared  1o  defend 


HIS     VARIOUS      DUTIES*  231 

with  his  sword  what  he  had  asserted  with  his  tongue. 
Placed  at  the  head  of  the  northern  department,  he  bent 
all  his  energies  to  the  task  before  him.  In  September 
he  was  ordered  to  invade  Canada,  but  being  taken 
seriously  ill,  the  command  devolved  on  Montgomery. 
While  the  army  in  Canada  was  passing  the  dreary 
winter  around  Quebec,  Schuyler  was  ordered  to  quell 
the  disturbances  in  Tryon  county.  He  marched  in  the 
depth  of  the  winter  along  the  Mohawk,  and  having 
settled  the  difficulties  and  made  a  treaty  with  the  hos 
tile  tribes,  returned  to  Albany.  Knowing  that  his 
abilities  were  something  more  than  those  belonging 
merely  to  a  military  chieftain,  Congress  taxed  them  to 
the  uttermost.  His  duties  "  were  so  various,  multiplied 
and  incessant,  as  to  require  rapid  movements,  sufficient 
to  distract  and  confound  an  ordinary  mind.  Thus,  on 
the  30th  of  December,  1775,  he  was  ordered  to  disarm 
the  tories  in  Tryon  county ;  on  the  8th  of  January,  1776, 
he  was  ordered  to  have  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  above 
and  below  Quebec,  well  explored ;  on  the  25th  of  Jan 
uary  he  was  ordered  to  have  the  fortress  of  Ticonde- 
roga  repaired  and  made  defensible,  and  on  the  17th  of 
February  he  was  directed  to  take  command  of  the 
forces,  and  conduct  the  military  operations  at  the  city 
of  New  York."*  To  fulfil  all  these  requirements  within 
the  six  weeks  allotted  to  them,  required  no  common 
powers  of  body  or  mind. 

In  March,  1776,  he  established  his  head-quarters  at 
Albany,  and  bent  all  his  efforts  to  raise  supplies  for  the 
army  in  Canada.  This  employment,  though  equally 

*  Vide  Chancellor  Kent's  Address  before  the  New  York  Historical 
Society. 


232  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

necessary,  was  not  so  brilliant  as  that  of  conducting  a 
campaign  or  battle.  He  brought  all  his  skill  and  in 
dustry  into  this  department,  and  infused  new  life  in  it. 
So  pressed  was  the  government  for  want  of  specie, 
that  he  himself  raised  over  $14,000  on  his  personal  se 
curity.  In  June  he  was  ordered  to  hold  a  conference 
with  the  Six  Nations,  and,  if  possible,  form  a  treaty  with 
them,  by  which  our  frontiers  along  the  Mohawk  should 
be  secure.  Three  days  after,  however,  he  was  ordered 
to  Lake  Champlain,  to  superintend  some  engineering 
where  Whitehall  now  stands,  and  also  build  vessels 
with  which  to  resist  the  approach  of  an  English  arma 
ment  fitting  out  at  St.  John's.  This  was  the  fleet  Ar 
nold  commanded.  Thus,  flying  from  point  to  point — 
met  at  every  turn  by  fresh  and  often  contradictory 
orders,  every  moment  of  his  time  was  crowded  to  its 
utmost  limit.  In  the  meantime  his  various  business 
transactions,  necessary  to  carry  out  the  orders  of  gov 
ernment,  had  brought  him  in  collision  with  a  great 
many  men,  causing  much  ill  will  against  him.  This, 
together  with  his  own  disgust  at  the  partiality  of  Con 
gress,  in  appointing  junior  officers,  to  separate  com 
mands  within  his  proper  jurisdiction,  prompted  him  to 
send  in  his  resignation  to  that  body.  But  Congress 
feeling  that  the  country  could  not  do  without  his  pow 
erful  aid,  prevailed  on  him  to  continue  his  command. 
They  declared  their  high  confidence  in  his  attachment 
to  the  cause  of  freedom,  a  compliment  he  could  not  re 
ciprocate  to  all  of  them. 

The  next  year,  1777,  opened  with  sad  presages  to 
the  nation,  and  not  the  least  of  these  was  the  invasion 
of  Burgoyne  with  10,000  men,  by  way  of  Lake  Cham- 


MURDER     OF     JANE     M'CREA.  233 

plain.  Schuyler  still  held  command  of  the  northern 
department,  and  began  to  prepare  for  the  coming 
storm ;  but  not  all  his  resources  and  strength  could 
avail  against  this  splendid  army,  which  bore  down 
everything  in  its  progress.  He  was  stationed  at  Fort 
Edward,  and  soon  saw  the  fugitives  of  St.  Glair's  army 
emerge  from  the  forest,  hastening  from  Ticonde- 
roga  and  Fort  Anne.  Unable  to  hold  his  ground,  he 
immediately  commenced  his  preparations  to  retreat 
south  through  the  wilderness.  In  the  meantime  oc 
curred  one  of  those  tragical  incidents  which  charac 
terized  our  border  war.  Jane  M'Crea,  the  daughter 
of  a  clergyman  in  New  Jersey,  was  engaged  to  a 
young  lieutenant  in  the  British  service,  who,  it  is  sup 
posed,  sent  some  Indians  to  her,  then  on  a  visit  north, 
to  bring  her  to  him.  Quarrelling  over  their  prize, 
they  finally  settled  it  by  killing  her.  There  are  vari 
ous  versions  to  this  story  ;  but  the  mere  fact  that  a 
young  accomplished,  and  uncommonly  beautiful  wo 
man  should  be  thus  massacred  in  cold  blood  by  the 
allies  of  the  English  army,  created  a  tremendous  sen 
sation.  Her  body  was  stripped  naked  and  tied  to  a 
tree,  her  long  and  flowing  hair  was  torn  away  with  the 
scalp — and  there,  with  the  blood  running  in  rivulets  over 
her  marble  form,  she  stood  an  awful  monument  of  savage 
cruelty.  This  event  afterwards  called  forth  a  letter  from 
Gates  to  Burgoyne,  and  the  story,  with  every  variety 
of  coloring,  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  the  land. 

The  murderers  of  this  lovely  woman  were  the  ad 
vance  party  of  Burgoyne's  army,  on  the  march  for 
Fort  Edward.  Schuyler,  with  his  feeble  force,  imme 
diately  retreated  across  the  wilderness  to  Stillwater. 


'234  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

He  however  did  not  leave  his  path  open  to  the  enemy. 
He  destroyed  the  navigation  of  Wood  Creek,  which 
he  had  labored  so  hard  to  open — he  cut  down  trees  in 
the  defiles,  piling  them  in  every  possible  direction  to 
obstruct  the  passage — tore  up  the  bridges,  and  made 
that,  dreary  wilderness  still  more  dreadful  by  the  wrreck 
he  strewed  over  the  few  paths  through  it.  As  he 
emerged  on  to  the  upper  waters  of  the  Hudson,  where 
the  country  was  settled,  and  brought  the  news  of  the 
progress  of  that  invading  army,  consternation  seized 
the  inhabitants.  No  man  can  imagine  the  picture  the 
country  presented.  Houses  were  deserted  almost  in 
stantly,  and  the  inmates,  taking  with  them  only  the 
clothes  they  had  on  their  backs,  and  a  few  necessaries 
of  life,  moved  in  a  confused  throng  southward.  The 
Indians  were  known  to  be  with  Burgoyne,  and  the 
murder  of  Miss  M'Crea  had  gone  before  them  to  an 
nounce  the  manner  in  which  the  war  would  be  carried 
on.  Whole  families,  piled  together  into  ox-carts,  with 
a  few  loose  articles  of  furniture  about  them,  men  on 
horseback,  and  sometimes  two  on  the  same  animal ; 
fathers  leading  their  children  on  foot,  and  pale  af 
frighted  mothers ;  were  seen  fleeing  along  the  roads, 
combining  to  render  it  a  scene  of  dismay  and  horror 
which  we  at  this  time  cannot  appreciate.  Schuyler 
saw  it  all,  and  his  heart  was  moved  with  anguish,  but 
there  was  no  help.  Still  falling  back,  he  called  on  the 
country  to  arouse  and  defend  its  own  firesides  and  al 
tars  ;  and  the  hardy  yeomanry  heard  his  call,  and  an 
swered  it  with  shouts  from  their  mountain  homes. 
Mothers  put  the  firelock  in  the  hands  of  their  youthful 
sons,  and,  Spartan-like,  bade  them  go  and  do  their 


THE     COUNTRY     AROUSED.  235 

duty ;  old  men  clutched  tremblingly  their  trusty  mus 
kets,  and  enthusiasm,  as  noble  as  it  was  fearful,  ani 
mated  every  bosom.  All  along  the  rivers,  from  every 
sweet  valley  and  hill  slope,  the  farmer,  turned  into  a 
soldier,  hastened  forward.  Casting  one  look  on  his 
waving  fields,  all  ripe  for  the  harvest,  he  left  them  un- 
reaped  and  descended  to  the  greater  harvest  of  men. 
Schuyler's  army,  from  a  few  thousand  men,  swelled 
rapidly,  and  began  to  present  a  formidable  appearance. 
Fighting  as  he  went,  retreating  slowly  southward,  he 
passed  his  own  estate,  soon  to  be  the  prey  of  the  spoil 
er.  Cast  down  at  first,  as  his  troops  deserted  him  in 
his  march  through  the  wilderness,  leaving  him  only  a 
feeble,  disheartened  band,  with  which  to  meet  the 
shock — he  now  took  courage  as  the  militia  flocked 
around  him,  and  wrote  to  Washington  full  of  hope  and 
confidence.  In  those  gathering  thousands  which  an 
swered  his  call,  he  saw  the  presage  of  final  victory. 
The  wilderness  had  closed  on  the  magnificent  army  of 
his  enemy,  and  already  an  ominous  murmur  was  heard 
along  the  hills  of  Vermont,  soon  to  swell  into  a  deafen 
ing  shout  from  the  field  of  Benningtori.  The  gathering 
storm  filled  the  heart  of  Schuyler  with  delight ;  for 
while  the  wave  from  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont 
was  rolling  darkly  over  the  Briton's  pathway  behind, 
an  adamantine  wall  of  freemen  was  rising  in  front. 

As  the  elements  were  thus  gathering  slowly  for  the 
final  explosion,  there  occurred  within  the  jurisdiction 
of  Schuyler  one  of  those  events  which  the  historian 
cannot  pass ;  I  mean 


236  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    ORISKANY. 

While  Burgoyne  was  moving  down  through  Lake 
Champlain  ;  Barry  St.  Leger,  who  had  been  dispatched 
for  the  purpose,  was  hastening  up  the  St.  Lawrence  and 
Lake  Ontario,  to  Oswego,  from  whence  he  was  to  de 
scend  on  Fort  Schuyler,  situated  where  Rome  now 
stands.  The  British  army  from  New  York  was  to 
force  our  forts  on  the  Hudson — Burgoyne  those  on 
Champlain  and  Lake  George — while  St.  Leger  was  to 
seize  Fort  Schuyler  and  march  down  the  Mohawk, 
and  thus  the  three  armies  form  a  junction  at  Albany. 
The  invasion  was  well  planned  and  promised  success, 
but  it  is  one  thing  to  beat  an  army  and  quite  another  to 
conquer  the  inhabitants.  Though  Schuyler  had  his 
hands  full  with  Burgoyne,  he  did  not  leave  Fort  Schuy 
ler  to  its  fate.  He  called  on  the  settlers  of  the  Mo 
hawk  valley  to  rise  in  defence  of  their  homes.  At  first 
a  general  apathy  followed  his  proclamation  ;  and  of 
fended  and  anxious,  he  wrote  bitterly  of  the  want  of  pa 
triotism  among  the  inhabitants  of  Tryon  county.  At 
length,  however,  General  Herkimer  issued  a  call,  which 
broke  the  spell,  and  the  people  flew  to  arms.  St.  Le- 
ger's  army,  consisting  of  British,  tories  and  Indians, 
numbered  in  all  about  seventeen  hundred  men.  Their 
order  of  march — the  wild  warriors  in  five  columns  far 
in  front,  and  the  dense  masses  of  English  troops  behind 
—presented  a  most  picturesque  appearance  as  they 
passed  through  the  forest. 

Schuyler  had  sent  Col.  Gansevoort  in  the  summer  to 
repair  the  fort,  and  a  constant  correspondence  had  been 


INVESTMENT     OF     THE     FORT.  237 

kept  up  between  them  on  the  matter.  The  latter  drew 
a  gloomy  picture  of  the  state  of  the  garrison,  of  the 
want  of  provisions,  of  bullets,  and  firelocks,  and  ammu 
nition  and  men,  affirming  it  would  be  impossible  to 
carry  out  the  repairs  and  execute  the  works  required 
in  his  order  without  reinforcements.  Still  he  declared 
like  a  brave  man  as  he  was,  that  he  would  give  a  good 
account  of  any  force  that  should  be  brought  against 
him.  During  the  summer  reinforcements  were  sent 
him  with  military  stores,  without  which  scarce  the 
shadow  of  a  defence  could  have  been  made.  They 
arrived  just  in  time,  for  scarcely  were  they  within  the 
fort  before  the  enemy  closed  around  it,  and  the  forest 
rung  with  the  war-whoop  of  the  savage. 

This  fort,  formerly  a  strong  one,  was  now  in  a  very 
imperfect  state,  but  within  it  beat  seven  hundred  brave 
hearts ;  determined  to  bury  themselves  in  its  ruins,  be 
fore  those  seventeen  hundred  tories  and  savages 
should  sweep  over  its  ramparts.  Blocked  in  on  every 
side,  they  went  to  work  with  a  determination  and  skill 
that  cover  their  names  with  honor.  They  had  no 
flag  to  wave  over  them  and  stand  as  a  signal  of  defi 
ance,  and  so  cutting  some  ammunition  shirts  into  white 
stripes,  while  a  camblet  cloak  captured  from  the  enemy 
furnished  the  blue,  and  various  other  materials  the  red, 
they  made  a  banner,  which  they  hoisted,  with  shouts^ 
to  its  place.  As  it  floated  off  in  the  breeze,  three 
cheers  went  up  from  the  garrison,  telling  that  wild 
work  would  be  done  before  it  should  be  struck. 

On  summing  up  their  means,  they  found  they  had  but 
six  weeks'  provision  on  hand,  and  but  very  little  ammuni 
tion  for  the  cannon — and  thus  supplied  they  commenced 


238         MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

their  heroic  defence.  On  the  third  of  August,  St. 
Leger  sat  down  before  the  fort,  and  sent  a  flag  to  the 
garrison,  demanding  its  surrender  :  but  not  the  humane 
offers,  nor  the  threatened  vengeance  of  the  savages, 
if  resort  should  be  had  to  storming,  could  shake  their 
firm  determination  to  hold  oat  to  the  last ;  and  the  next 
day  the  siege  commenced.  The  rifles  of  the  Indians 
picked  off*  every  man  that  showed  himself  above  the 
works,  while  shells  were  ever  and  anon  thrown  over 
the  ramparts.  The  next  day  passed  in  the  same  way, 
but  at  night  that  multitude  of  Indians,  one  thousand 
in  number,  surrounded  the  walls,  and  covered  by  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  forest,  commenced  at  a  given 
signal  the  most  terrific  yells  that  ever  froze  the  heart 
oi  fear.  The  savage  cry  rung  round  the  entire 
fort — a  circle  of  discordant  cries  and  screams  that 
could  be  heard  for  miles.  Suddenly  it  ceased,  and 
death-like  silence  fell  on  the  scene :  again  it  commen 
ced,  making  night  hideous  with  horrid  echoes.  Again 
it  died  away,  and  again  commenced,  and  thus  the  live 
long  night  did  these  demons  scream  their  war-whoops, 
and  death  songs,  and  threats,  in  the  ears  of  the  listening 
garrison,  filling  the  soul  with  visions  of  blood  and 
massacres.  Many  a  dark  tale  was  that  night  told, 
and  each  one  knew  from  that  moment  what  their  fate 
would  be,  if,  overpowered  by  numbers,  they  should  be 
compelled  to  surrender. 

In  the  mean  time,  General  Herkimer,  having  raised 
nearly  a  thousand  men,  determined  to  march  to  their 
relief,  and  sent  an  express  to  Gansevoort.  announc 
ing  his  approach  to  within  eight  miles  of  the  ene 
my's  camp.  If  the  express  arrived  safely,  three  can- 


COMMENCEMENT     OF     THE     BATTLE.  239 

non  were  to  be  fired  as  a  signal,  which  he  supposed 
he  should  be  able  to  hear  at  that  distance.  The  next 
morning  Herkimer,  who  was  listening,  heard  those 
three  guns  as  the  echo  slowly  traversed  the  forest 
down  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk.  The  plan  was  to  cut 
his  way  through  the  enemy's  camp,  while  Gansevoort, 
in  order  to  assist  him,  should  send  half  his  garrison 
forth  to  attack  it  on  the  other  side. 

Herkimer  having  reached  this  point,  doubted  the 
propriety  of  advancing  on  an  enemy  so  much  superior, 
and  proposed  waiting  for  reinforcements.  But  his  offi 
cers  overruled  him,  declaring  to  his  face  that  his  hesita 
tion  arose  from  cowardice.  The  brave  old  veteran  told 
them  they  would  be  the  first  to  run  when  the  battle 
commenced,  and  his  words  proved  true.  All  his  re 
monstrances  were  of  no  avail,  he  was  met  at  every 
turn  by  accusations  and  insults,  until  enraged  at  their 
obstinacy  and  abuse,  he  thundered  out  "  MARCH  ON  !" 
A  loud  shout  was  the  response,  and  the  troops  pushed 
tumultuously  forward.  In  files  of  two  deep,  with 
flanks  thrown  out  on  each  side,  and  an  advanced  guard 
to  clear  the  way,  they  moved  rapidly  on.  St.  Leger 
had  heard  of  their  approach,  and  fearing  to  be  attacked 
in  his  camp,  had  sent  out  a  portion  of  Johnson's  regiment 
of  Greens,  some  rangers,  and  a  large  body  of  Indians 
under  Brant,  to  intercept  them.  The  road  by  which 
Herkimer  was  advancing,  dipped  into  a  deep  ravine 
about  two  miles  west  of  Oriskany,  (eight  from  Whites- 
boro',)  and  crossed  it  by  a  causeway  of  logs.  This 
ravine  was  somewhat  circular,  bending  away  towards 
the  fort.  The  ground  in  and  beyond  this  half  elbow  or 
bend,  was  slightly  elevated.  On  the  west  side  the 


240  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

Indians  had  arranged  themselves,  ext(  ading  their  files 
along  the  ravine  on  each  side  of  the  line  of  march. 
The  flanking  detachments  could  not  move  outside  of 
this  defile,  and  so  the  whole  army  pressed  vigorously 
across  the  causeway,  and  began  to  ascend  the  high 
grounds  beyond.  Instantaneously  the  savages  closed 
around  their  rear,  thus  separating  them  from  the  rear 
guard  and  the  ammunition  and  baggage  wagons.  Her- 
kimer  was  on  horseback,  moving  quietly  along,  when 
a  sudden  yell,  that  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  very 
ground,  swept  in  one  terrific  echo  entirely  around  his 
army,  followed  by  a  flash  of  rifles  and  a  gleam  of  toma 
hawks  that  made  the  woods  inherent  with  light.  The 
surprise  was  complete,  and  the  whole  army  was  thrown 
into  disorder  that  no  after  effort  could  restore.  Herki- 
mer,  calm  and  collected,  sent  his  voice  over  the  din  and 
tumult  to  steady  the  ranks,  and  with  his  sword  over  his 
head,  sat  for  a  moment  the  rock  of  the  battle-field. 
The  next  moment  a  musket-ball  pierced  his  horse, 
shattering  his  leg  in  its  passage,  and  he  fell  amid  his 
followers.  His  aids  immediately  took  the  saddle  from 
the  dying  steed,  and  fixing  it  against  a  tree,  placed  the 
wounded  general  upon  it.  There  bleeding  and  help 
less  he  calmly  issued  his  orders,  while  the  rattle  of  mus 
ketry,  the  yells  of  the  savages,  and  death-shrieks  of  the 
fallen,  made  a  scene  of  uproar  and  confusion  terrific  and 
indescribable.  His  officers  were  dropping  like  leaves 
around  him,  and  whole  ranks  of  his  soldiers  melted 
away  in  his  sight,  while,  far  as  his  eye  could  reach, 
was  one  fierce  death-struggle.  Here  two  powerful 
forms  were  rolling  on  the  earth  with  their  hands  on 
each  other's  throats,  and  beside  them  two  others  wrest- 


THE     BATTLE.  241 

ling  for  the  mastery,  while  their  muskets  swung  to  and 
fro  in  the  air.  Here  a  tomahawk  crushed  into  a  skull, 
and  there  a  knife  descended  like  a  flash  of  light  into  the 
bosom.  Still  not  a  ray  of  excitement  or  a  shadow  of 
fear  passed  over  his  iron  countenance.  In  reply  to  his 
officers,  who  wished  him  to  remove  to  a  place  of  great 
er  safety,  he  said,  "  1  will  face  the  enemy  /"  and  coolly 
taking  out  a  pipe,  he  filled  it,  and  lighting  it  with  some 
tinder,  commenced  smoking  as  quietly  as  if  he  were  in 
his  own  house.  Neither  his  mangled  leg,  nor  the 
dusky  warriors  around  him,  nor  his  own  utterly  broken 
troops,  could  disturb  his  equanimity.  But  that  circle 
of  fire  and  death  kept  gradually  contracting,  forcing  his 
disordered  ranks  into  a  denser  mass.  Seeing  that  this 
would  complete  the  ruin,  he  ordered  his  men  to  form  into 
distinct  separate  circles,  and  thus  prevent  themselves 
from  being  crushed  together.  Having  done  this,  their 
fire  began  to  tell  with  terrible  effect.  It  searched  the 
forest  on  every  side,  and  the  reeling  forms  of  the  Indians 
and  British  soldiers  showed  that  the  hour  of  retribution 
had  come.  Just  then  a  dark  cloud  swept  rapidly  over 
the  heavens,  turning  day  into  night,  and  filling  the  forest 
with  gloom.  The  English  commander  now  saw  that 
a  desperate  effort  must  be  made  to  dislodge  the  Ameri 
cans,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  gathering  of  the  elements  he 
ordered  the  troops  to  cease  firing  and  charge  bayonet. 
Amid  the  deep  hush  that  fell  on  the  scene,  the  rush  and 
tramp  of  charging  ranks  were  heard  ;  and  the  next  mo 
ment  the  clashing  of  steel  points  against  each  other,  as 
bayonet  crossed  bayonet  in  the  close  conflict,  sounded 
like  the  ringing  of  a  hundred  anvils.  Never  did  troops 
charge  braver  than  they,  and  never  was  an  onset  more 
VOL.  i.  21 


242  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

firmly  met.  It  was  a  deadly  hand  to  hand  fight,  and 
many  lay  side  by  side  with  their  bayonets  in  each 
other's  bosoms.  But  nothing  could  shake  the  steady 
courage  of  the  Americans,  and  they  were  on  the  point 
of  rolling  back  the  foe,  when  that  heavy  cloud  emptied 
itself  on  the  battle-field  in  a  perfect  deluge  of  rain,  and 
the  combat  ceased.  The  sudden  silence  that  succeeded 
was  more  awful  than  the  loudest  uproar.  There  sat 
Herkimer  drenched  with  rain,  while  the  two  armies 
around  him  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been  turned  into 
stone.  The  pattering  of  the  huge  drops  on  the  leaves 
was  distinctly  heard,  and  low  groans  and  cries  for  help 
resounded  on  every  side.  During  this  suspension,  the 
wounded  general  ordered  his  men  to  occupy  an  advan 
tageous  piece  of  ground,  and  form  themselves  into  one 
great  circle,  two  men  behind  each  tree.  Previously  an 
Indian,  whenever  he  saw  a  flash  from  behind  a  tree, 
would  spring  forward  and  tomahawk  the  American 
before  he  could  reload  his  piece  ;  but  afterwards,  when 
two  were  together,  the  moment  he  uncovered  himself 
he  was  dropped. 

At  length  the  cloud  rolled  away,  and  the  combat 
opened  with  tenfold  fury.  At  this  moment  another 
detachment  of  Johnson's  Greens  was  seen  marching 
rapidly  up,  and  soon  opened  their  fire.  The  Ameri 
cans  had  now  become  perfectly  maddened  by  the  pro 
longed  conflict,  and  the  murderous  work  that  had  been 
made  with  their  ranks.  Pouring  in  volley  after  volley, 
as  the  steady  troops  advanced,  they  at  length  burst 
away  from  their  cove'r,  and  with  a  terrible  shout,  fell 
on  them  with  the  bayonet.  Neither  party  gave  way, 
and  they  mingled  together  in  the  embrace  of  death. 


DESPERATE     ENCOUNTER.  243 

Now  transfixing  a  poor  wretch  with  the  bayonet,  and 
now  crushing  in  a  skull  with  the  butt-end  of  their 
muskets,  or  in  closer  conflict  throttling  their  antagonists, 
and  plunging  the  knife  into  their  sides  ;  they  raged 
through  the  fight  more  like  unchained  demons,  than 
men,  and  presented  one  of  the  most  terrific  scenes 
ever  furnished  by  human  passion.  At  that  moment  a 
firing  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  fort,  send 
ing  joy  through  their  hearts,  for  they  knew  their 
friends  were  sallying  forth  to  their  rescue,  and  they 
sent  a  loud  shout  through  the  forest.  Butler,  who 
commanded  the  English  rangers,  now  formed  a  plan 
that  well  nigh  proved  fatal  to  the  Americans.  Sending 
around  a  detachment  of  Greens  with  American  hats 
on,  to  make  them  appear  like  reinforcements  from  the 
garrison,  he  suddenly  came  upon  Captain  Garde- 
nier's  company.  The  lieutenant  immediately  cried  out, 
"They  are  friends."  "No,  no,"  replied  the  captain, 
"don't  you  see  their  green  coats?"  Coming  steadily 
on,  Gardenier  hailed  them,  and  one  of  his  men  recog 
nizing  an  old  acquaintance  among  their  ranks,  ran  up 
to  him  and  held  out  his  hand,  when  he  was  immedi 
ately  dragged  within  the  lines,  and  made  prisoner.  He 
struggled  manfully,  however,  to  escape,  and  Gardenier, 
who  saw  the  movement,  sprang  forward,  and  with  one 
stroke  of  his  spear  transfixed  the  perfidious  friend, 
and  freed  his  man.  Others  immediately  rushing  upon 
him,  he  struck  one  dead  at  his  feet,  and  wounded  the 
second,  and  was  turning  to  flee  when  three  others 
sprang  upon  him.  Struggling  desperately  to  clear 
himself,  his  spurs  got  entangled  in  their  clothes,  and 
he  tripped  and  fell.  Two  bayonets  immediately  pierced 


244        MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

his  thighs,  pinning  him  to  the  earth,  while  a  third  was 
descending  in  his  bosom.  Seizing  this  with  his  left  hand, 
he  wrenched  it  aside  with  a  sudden  effort,  and  bringing 
his  foe,  an  English  lieutenant,  upon  his  breast,  held  him 
firmly  there  as  a  shield  against  the  thrusts  of  the  others. 
His  thighs  were  pierced,  his  left  hand  cut  to  the  bone 
by  the  bayonet  which  had  been  drawn  through  his 
grasp,  yet  he  held  his  enemy,  locked  in  his  embrace. 
In  this  perilous  position,  some  of  his  troops  called  out, 
"  Hold,  for  God's  sake  Captain,  you  are  killing  your 
friends."  He  shouted  back,  "  They  are  enemies — fire 
away  !"  One  of  his  men  seeing  his  danger,  rushed 
forward  to  the  rescue ;  and  no  sooner  was  the  Wounded 
hero  released,  than  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  seizing 
his  lance,  laid  his  antagonist  dead  beside  him,  then 
fled  back  to  his  company.*  Pouring  in  one  volley, 
they  rushed  upon  each  other,  in  that  dreadful  hand  to 
ha,nd  fight,  which  distinguished  the  warriors  of  old. 
Gardenier  shouted  on  his  men,  and  deeds  of  valor  and 
personal  prowess  were  performed,  never  surpassed  on 
any  field  of  blood.  A  Captain  Dillenback,  who  had  de 
clared  he  would  never  be  taken  alive,  suddenly  found 
himself  opposed  to  three  English  soldiers.  Turning 
like  a  lion  upon  them,  he  wrenched  away  his  musket, 
which  one  of  them  had  seized,  and  felled  him  at  a 
blow  ;  the  second  he  shot  dead,  and  the  third  bayo- 
netted  ;  but  scarcely  had  the  frown  of  rage  given  place 
to  the  smile  of  triumph,  before  a  more  distant  shot 
struck  him,  and  he  fell  amid  his  victims,  to  rise  no 
more.  For  six  long  hours  now  had  this  murderous 
conflict  raged,  and  nearly  half  of  the  entire  army 
*  Vide  Col.  Stone's  Life  of  Brant. 


APPEARANCE     OF     THE     FIELD.  245 

lay  dead  or  wounded  on  the  field;  yet  the  remnant, 
weary  and  exhausted,  had  no  thought  of  retreating. 
Closing  sternly  on  their  foes,  they  pressed  on,  while 
the  distant  firing  every  moment  grew  nearer,  sending 
hope  to  their  hearts.  Suddenly,  over  the  tumult  of  bat 
tle  rung  the  shout  "  Oomah,  Oomah  /"  the  Indian's  cry 
of  flight,  and  the  whole  turned  and  fled.  The  Ameri 
cans  gave  them  one  last  volley,  and  then  made  the 
woods  ring  with  their  loud  hurrahs.  A  more  bloody 
battle,  considering  the  numbers  engaged,  was  never 
fought,  and  the  Americans  remained  victors. 

The  garrison  had  made  a  brave  effort  for  their 
friends.  Soon  as  the  heavy  shower  passed  by,  Colo 
nel  Willett,  at  the  head  of  a  detachment  sallied  forth 
with  such  impetuosity,  that  the  enemy  had  not  time 
to  form  before  he  was  upon  them,  carrying  Sir  John 
Johnson's  encampment,  and  capturing  all  his  papers, 
equipage,  stores,  and  five  standards.  But  finding 
himself  exposed  to  be  cut  off  by  St.  Leger,  he  was 
compelled  to  retreat  into  the  fort.  The  captured  flags 
were  hoisted  on  the  flag-staff,  beneath  their  own  ex 
temporaneous  banner,  and  as  they  drooped  there  in 
disgrace,  the  soldiers  mounted  the  parapets  and  toge 
ther  gave  three  hearty  cheers. 

Thus  ended  the  battle  of  Oriskany,  to  stand  forever 
as  a  monument  of  American  valor.  But  what  a  bloody 
field  it  was — there  they  lay,  white  man  and  savage, 
near  a  thousand  of  them  scattered  around  through  the 
forest — part  pale  in  death,  others  reclining  on  their  el 
bows,  or  sitting  up  against  the  trees,  moaning  piteously 
for  water.  The  bright  uniform  of  the  officer  glittered 
beside  the  naked  body  of  the  Indian ;  and  all  around, 
21* 


246  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

thick  as  the  leaves,  were  strewn  shivered  spears,  broken 
muskets  and  neglected  swords.  Here  lay  a  pile  of  fifty 
together,  and  there  a  solitary  warrior  stretched  where 
the  death  shot  had  struck  him.  Two  would  be  found 
side  by  side  with  their  bayonets  in  each  other's  bosoms  ; 
and  near  by  "  a  white  man  and  Indian  born  on  the  banks 
of  the  Mohawk,  their  left  hands  clenched  in  each  other's 
hair,  the  right  grasping  in  a  gripe  of  death  the  knife 
plunged  in  each  other's  bosoms — thus  they  lay  frown 
ing"  Days  after  the  battle,  the  bodies  still  lay  un- 
buried,  many  of  them  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts. 
The  Americans,  though  victors,  had  suffered  too  severely 
to  think  of  cutting  their  way  through  to  the  fort,  and 
precipitately  retreated,  leaving  their  dead  unburied  and 
carrying  their  wounded  general  with  them.  They  bore 
him  to  his  own  house  near  Little  Falls,  where  death  soon 
put  an  end  to  his  sufferings.  His  leg  was  amputated, 
but  the  operation  being  unskilfully  performed,  he  bled  to 
death.  Like  Moreau,  who  smoked  during  the  amputa 
tion  of  his  legs,  after  the  battle  of  Dresden,  Herkimer 
sat  up  in  his  bed  smoking  his  pipe  as  deliberately  as  he 
did  on  the  field  of  battle.  Towards  night  the  old  vet 
eran  saw  that  his  hour  had  come,  for  no  effort  could 
staunch  the  blood,  which  in  its  steady  flow  was  rap 
idly  draining  the  sources  of  life,  and  he  called  for  the 
Bible.  Opening  at  the  thirty-eighth  psalm,  he  read 
it  with  a  steady  unaltered  voice  to  the  end,  and  then 
resigned  his  soul  into  the  hands  of  his  Maker. 

The  fate  of  Fort  Schuyler  seemed  now  to  be  fixed. 
The  army  sent  to  its  relief  had  been  compelled  to 
retreat ;  and  beleaguered  by  foes,  starvation,  if  nothing 
else,  threatened  to  reduce  the  strength  of  the  garrison, 


A     BRAVE     REPLY.  247 

and  force   it   to    surrender.      In   the    meantime    two 
American  officers,  who  had  been  taken  prisoners  in 
the  battle  of  Oriskany,  were   compelled   to  write  to 
Gansevoort,  exaggerating  -the  numbers  of  the  enemy, 
stating   that   Burgoyne   had   arrived   at  Albany,  and 
declaring  finally  that  longer  resistance  would  be  his 
ruin.     The  officer  who  bore  this  letter  made  a  verbal 
demand  of  surrender :  Gansevoort  coolly  read  the  letter 
through,  and  in  answer  to  the  summons,  said  that  he 
would  give  no  reply  to  a  verbal  communication  but 
at  the  cannon's  mouth.     The  officer  then  went  into 
a  statement  of  the  case  ;  and,  among  other  things,  inti 
mated  that  the  Indians  would  be  let  loose  on  the  de 
fenceless  settlements   if  he  persisted   in  his  defence. 
Gansevoort,  looking  him  full  in  the  face,  replied  that 
his  long  speech,  stripped  of  all  its  superfluities,  amount 
ed  to  this  simple  declaration — that  if  he  did  not  deliver 
up  the  fort  he  would  send  the  Indians  to  murder  the 
women  and  children.     Throwing  all  the  sarcasm  in  his 
tone  he  was  master  of,  he  hurled  his  withering  scorn 
at  the  proposition  and  its  author,  and  .wound  up  with — 
"  After  you  get  out  of  the  fort,  you  may  turn  round 
and  look  at  its  outside,  but  never  expect  to  come  in 
again  unless  you  come  a  prisoner.      I  consider  the 
message  you  have  brought  a  degrading  one  for  a  Brit 
ish  officer  to  send,  and  by  no  means  a  reputable  one 
for  a  British  officer  -to  carry.     For  my  own  part,  be 
fore  I  would  consent  to  deliver  this  garrison  to  such  a 
murderous  set  as  your  army,  by  your  own  account, 
consists  of,  I  would  suffer  my  body  to  be  filled  with 
splinters  and  set  on  fire,  as  you  know  has,  at  times, 
been  practised  by  such  hordes  of  women  and  children 


248  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

killers  as  belong  to  your  army."  There  spoke  out  the 
true  hero — no  fear  of  future  revenge,  should  he  fall  at 
last,  could  check  the  indignation  of  his  noble  heart,  and 
he  hurled  defiance  and  scorn  on  the  merciless  enemy 
in  whose  power  he  might  soon  be.  St.  Leger,  finding 
what  metal  the  American  commander  was  made  of, 
sent,  on  the  9th  of  August,  a  written  summons  to  him 
to  surrender,  concluding  with  the  declaration  that  the 
Indians  were  becoming  very  impatient,  and  longer  de 
lay  would  be  fatal  to  the  garrison  and  the  whole  valley 
of  the  Mohawk.  To  this  formal  and  haughty  summons 
Gansevoort  deigned  only  the  following  stern  reply : 
"  Sir :  Your  letter  of  this  day's  date  I  have  received, 
in  answer  to  which  I  say,  that  it  is  my  determined  in 
tention,  with  the  forces  under  my  command,  to  defend 
this  fort  to  the  last  extremity  in  behalf  of  the  United 
States,  who  have  placed  me  here  to  defend  it  against 
all  their  enemies"  Finding  all  other  resources  failing, 
St.  Leger  began  to  make  regular  approaches,  for  the 
purpose  of  sapping  the  fort. 

In  the  meantime  Col.  Willett,  he  who  had  headed  so 
gallantly  the  sortie  to  aid  Herkimer,  proposed  to  pass 
by  night  through  the  enemy's  lines,  and  hasten  to  Tryon 
county  to  raise  another  army  for  the  relief  of  the  garrison. 
Taking  with  him  only  one  other  officer,  Major  Stock- 
well,  armed  like  himself  with  nothing  but  a  spear  ;  and 
supplied  with  a  few  crackers,  some  cheese,  and  a  canteen 
of  whiskey,  he  started.  Leaving  the  sally-port  after 
dark,  these  two  brave  men  crawled  on  their  hands  and 
knees  to  the  river,  over  which  they  crept  on  a  log,  and 
then  plunged  into  the  forest.  Becoming  entangled  in 
the  woods,  they  lost  their  way,  and  stumbled  about ;  till 


PERILOUS     EXPEDITION.  249 

suddenly  they  heard  in  the  distance  the  barking  of  a 
dog,  telling  them  they  were  approaching  the  Indian 
camp.  Stopping  immediately,  they  stood  for  hours  in 
the  gloom,  speaking  only  in  whispers,  until  at  length 
the  morning  star  began  to  sparkle  over  the  forest, 
lighting  their  path.  They  then  pushed  on ;  at  times 
wading  along  streams,  to  throw  the  Indians  from  their 
trail,  and  never  halted  once  or  slacked  their  speed  till 
night.  Unable  to  find  their  way  in  the  darkness,  they 
were  compelled  to  remain  where  they  were  till  morn 
ing.  But  they  dared  not  kindle  a  fire,  and  so,  eating  a 
few  of  their  crackers,  they  threw  their  arms  around 
each  other,  and  like  "brother  warriors,  true  and  tried," 
stretched  themselves  upon  the  damp  earth  and  slept, 
locked  in  fraternal  embrace.  Two  braver  hearts  never 
beat  against  each  other.  Next  morning  they  resumed 
their  journey,  and  having  exhausted  their  slender  stock 
of  provisions,  were  compelled  to  pick  berries  on  the 
way  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger.  Before  night 
they  reached  Fort  Dayton.  Here  they  heard,  to  their 
great  joy,  that  Arnold  was  on  his  way  with  an  army 
to  relieve  the  fort,  and  Col.  Willett  immediately  mount 
ing  a  horse,  started  to  meet  him. 

Gansevoort's  situation,  in  the  meantime,  was  becom 
ing  more  and  more  critical.  St.  Leger  had  advanced 
to  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  the  fort,  into 
which  he  constantly  threw  shells,  while  the  Indians 
picked  off  those  who  exposed  themselves  to  view. 
Nothing  had  been  heard  of  Willett,  and  it  was  not 
even  known  whether  he  had  made  his  escape.  In  the 
midst  of  this  uncertainty  and  distress,  Gansevoort,  who 
never  thought  of  surrendering,  determined  as  a  last 


250        MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

resort,  to  issue  forth  at  night  and  cut  his  way  sword 
in  hand  through  the  enemy's  camp.  He  was,  however, 
saved  from  executing  this  desperate  and  bloody  re 
solve.  Schuyler,  then  at  Albany,  had  heard  of  the  de 
feat  of  Herkimer,  and  his  noble  heart  was  wrung  at 
the  thought  of  what  would  befall  that  brave  garrison 
if  relief  were  not  sent.  He  immediately  called  a  coun 
cil  of  officers  and  stated  the  situation  of  Fort  Schuyler, 
and  the  necessity  of  relieving  it.  But  Burgoyne  was 
now  moving  rapidly  down,  and  it  was  deemed  un 
safe  to  send  away  any  of  the  troops — it  would  need  all 
the  force  they  could  muster  to  meet  him.  Schuyler 
would  not  listen  to  a  refusal — he  reasoned,  he  urged, 
but  still  could  not  overcome  the  opposition  of  the  offi 
cers.  In  this  dilemma,  he  walked  about  the  room  in 
great  agitation,  and  as  he  heard  some  remarks  fall 
about  his  "  weakening  the  army,"  his  teeth  closed  so 
angrily  over  his  pipe  that  it  crumbled  in  his  mouth. 
Turning  fiercely  round,  he  exclaimed,  "  Gentlemen,  1 
shall  take  the  responsibility  upon  myself;  where  is  the 
brigadier  that  will  take  command  of  them  ?  I  shall 
beat  up  for  volunteers  to-morrow."  Arnold,  ever 
ready  to  go  where  danger  pointed,  or  brave  men 
needed  his  help,  sprung  to  his  feet  and  offered  to  head 
the  expedition.  The  next  morning  the  drum  beat  for 
volunteers,  and  enough  were  found  ready  to  start. 
Arnold  and  Larned  were  immediately  despatched  with 
three  regiments,  and  ordered  to  raise  other  troops  on 
the  way.  Schuyler  now  felt  relieved,  and  wrote  to 
Gansevoort,  saying,  "  Dear  Colonel — A  body  of  troops 
left  this  place  yesterday,  and  others  are  following  to 
raise  the  siege  of  Fort  Schuyler.  Everybody  here 


THE     FORT     RELIEVED.  251 

believes  you  will  defend  it  to  the  last,  and  I  strictly  en 
join  you  so  to  do.  General  Burgoyne  is  at  Fort  Ed 
ward — our  army  at  Stillwater — great  reinforcements 
coming  from  the  eastward,  and  we  trust  all  will  be  well 
and  the  enemy  repulsed"  He  was  right — he  who  de 
fended  that  fort  was  one  of  those  whom  neither  famine, 
nor  torture,  nor  death  can  frighten  from  their  high  pur 
pose. 

At  length,  on  the  22d  of  August,  after  having  been 
closely  besieged  for  three  weeks,  the  garrison  noticed  a 
great  movement  in  the  enemy's  camp,  and  in  a  short 
time  not  a  soldier  was  to  be  seen.  Indians  and  Eng 
lish,  all  had  fled,  leaving  their  tents  standing,  and  their 
artillery  and  baggage  behind.  They  looked  with  un 
utterable  surprise  on  this  sudden  flight,  unable  to  give 
any  conjecture  of  the  cause.  I  have  before  spoken,  in 
my  sketch  of  Arnold,  of  the  stratagem  he  practised, 
with  so  much  success,  to  frighten  the  Indians  from 
their  allies,  and  which  caused  this  hurried  abandon 
ment  of  the  siege. 

As  the  head  of  Arnold's  column  emerged  from  the 
wilderness,  and  marched  up  to  the  ramparts,  a  salute  of 
cannon  was  fired,  and  the  brave,  overjoyed  garrison 
made  the  forest  ring  with  their  cheers. 

Thus  was  saved  Fort  Schuyler — and  while  Stark  had 
struck  Burgoyne  a  staggering  blow  at  Bennington, 
Gansevoort  had  broken  up  his  plans  with  regard  to 
St.  Leger  ;  so  that  instead  of  hemming  in  the  Ameri 
can  army,  as  he  anticipated,  he  found  himself  locked 
in  on  every  side,  and  the  heavens  gathering  blackness 
over  his  head. 

The  energy  and  determination  with  which  Schuyler 


252  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

labored  to  save  the  fort  named  after  him,  rescued 
the  American  army  from  the  threatened  attack  in 
that  quarter.  Had  he  acted  with  less  resolution,  it 
would  have  fallen,  and  the  result  of  that  whole  cam 
paign,  very  likely,  been  different.  With  St.  Leger, 
reinforced  by  the  tories,  moving  down  the  Mohawk, 
and  Burgoyne  down  the  Hudson,  our  position  would 
have  been  harassing  in  the  extreme.  The  army,  instead 
of  concentrating,  would  have  been  compelled  to  divide 
its  strength,  and  thus  lessen  the  prospect  of  success. 

Schuyler  had  conducted  throughout  with  consum 
mate  ability,  and  though  the  country  had  been  filled 
with  clamors  against  him,  for  abandoning  Ticonderoga 
and  Fort  Edward,  it  could  not  have  been  helped,  and  a 
few  days  would  show  the  soundness  of  his  views,  and 
the  correctness  of  his  calculations.  But  at  this  critical 
moment,  just  as  he  was  about  to  clear  himself  before 
the  country,  and  wipe  out,  by  a  glorious  victory,  the 
remembrance  of  his  former  defeats,  Gates  was  appoint 
ed  to  supersede  him.  The  excuse  for  this  was,  that 
the  former  was  unpopular  in  New  England,  from  which 
large  reinforcements  were  expected,  while  the  latter  was 
very  much  liked.  This  may  have  been  the  sole  reason, 
and  if  so,  the  act  is  defensible  on  the  ground  of  policy, 
yet  deserving  the  deepest  condemnation  on  the  score 
of  justice.  No  doubt  it  is  better  that  a  man  should  be 
sacrificed  than  his  country.  Personal  reputation  is  of 
small  moment  compared  to  the  salvation  of  an  army ; 
and  if  it  was  necessary  to  remove  Schuyler,  no  matter 
how  ridiculous  the  grounds  on  which  the  demand  was 
based,  it  should  have  been  done.  Our  prospects  were 
gloomy  enough,  and  the  difference  the  success  or  de- 


SUPERSEDED     BY     GATES.  253 

feat  of  Burgoyne  would  make  in  them  was  incalculable. 
The  whole  matter  then  turns  on  the  simple  question  of 
necessity,  or  of  supposed  necessity.  But  there  is  great 
reason  to  believe  that  no  such  necessity  existed ;  and 
that  the  clique  in  Congress,  which  wished  to  put  Gates  in 
the  place  of  Washington,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  this  great 
wrong.  The  whole  country  looked  upon  Burgoyne  as 
doomed — he  must  retreat  or  fall — and  the  appointment 
of  Gates,  there  is  cause  to  fear,  was  made  in  order  to 
give  him  laurels  which  were  already  prepared  for  an 
other.  What  if  the  Eastern  states  had  clamored  against 
Schuyler?  the  reinforcements  were  rapidly  coming  in — 
it  was  a  matter  of  self-defence,  and  they  could  not  with 
hold  their  aid.  Interest,  if  nothing  else,  prompted  them 
to  respond  to  the  call  which  he  issued,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that  the  campaign  would  have  been  conducted 
to  as  glorious  an  issue  under  his  management,  as  it  was 
under  that  of  Gates.  The  battle  of  Bennington,  and 
defeat  of  St.  Leger,  fixed  irrecoverably  the  fate  of 
Burgoyne,  unless  some  blunder  was  committed  by  the 
American  commander,  which  would  have  disgraced 
him  forever.  To  advance  was  ruin,  whoever  might 
command  the  American  army.  It  is  sad  to  think,  that 
a  so  much  nobler,  abler  man  than  Gates — one  who  had 
done  all  the  drudgery  of  the  campaign,  exerted  him 
self  to  the  utmost,  spared  no  effort,  and  shrunk  from 
no  hardship,  endured  complaints  and  murmurs  with 
out  anger  or  retort,  should,  in  the  very  moment  when 
his  labors  were  to  be  crowned  with  complete  success, 
be  compelled  to  stand  aside,  and  see  another  receive 
all  the  honors.  To  prepare  the  ground,  sow  the  seed, 
and  just  as  the  harvest  is  ripe,  to  see  it  fall  into  the 
VOL.  i.  22 


254  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

arms  of  one  who  has  put  forth  no  effort,  is  a  bitter 
task ;  yet  Schuyler  had  to  bear  it.  Said  he,  in  his 
noble  grief,  "  /  am  sensible  of  the  indignity  of  being 
ordered  from  the  command  of  the  army  at  a  time  when 
an  engagement  must  soon  take  place." 

He  was  with  Gates  when  Burgoyne  surrendered, 
and  beheld,  one  may  easily  imagine  with  what  feelings, 
the  British  host,  as  prisoners  of  war,  file  off  before  the 
American  army.  He  heard  the  shout  that  rocked  the 
nation  in  honor  of  Gates,  and  saw  the  laurels  belong 
ing  to  his  brow  twined  round  the  temples  of  his  suc 
cessor.  Still  no  low  indignation  or  envy  stained  his 
spotless  character,  for  his  patriotism  was  of  that  lofty 
kind,  which  could  exult  in  the  triumph  of  his  country, 
though  it  sprung  from  his  own  disgrace. 

After  the  surrender,  he  behaved  with  all  that  mag 
nanimity  which  one  is  led  to  expect  from  him.  When 
the  Baroness  Reidesel  approached  the  American  tents, 
a  stranger  stepped  forward  and  assisted  her  from  the 
carriage — kissing  and  caressing  the  children  so  affec 
tionately,  that  the  tears  rushed  unbidden  to  her  eyes. 
"  You  tremble,"  said  he  ;  "  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  pray 
you."  He  then  led  her  to  the  tent  of  Gates.  After  a 
moment,  this  same  stranger  came  and  said  it  might  be 
embarrassing  to  remain  the  only  lady  in  such  a  large 
company  of  gentlemen,  and  invited  her  to  come  with 
her  children  to  his  tent,  and  take  a  frugal  meal.  She 
did  so,  remarking,  that  he  must  be  a  husband  and  a 
father,  to  show  her  so  much  kindness.  That  stranger 
was  General  Schuyler,  thus  helping  to  add  grace  and 
true  glory  to  the  victory  of  Gates.  Not  content  with 
these  trifling  attentions,  he  urged  and  prevailed  on  the 


NOBLE     BEHAVIOR.  255 

Baroness  to  make  his  house  at  Albany  her  home,  and 
sent  an  escort  to  accompany  her  there,  where  she  was 
received  by  Mrs.  Schuyler,  more  like  an  old  friend 
than  a  stranger.  He  made  Burgoyne  his  guest  also, 
and  treated  him  like  a  prince,  though,  without  provo 
cation  he  had  ordered  Schuyler's  house  at  Saratoga, 
together  with  mills  and  other  buildings  to  the  value  of 
nearly  twenty  thousand  dollars,  to  be  burned  to  the 
ground.  The  British  general  was  so  much  struck 
with  this  generous  behavior,  that  he  once  said  to 
him,  "  You  are  too  kind  to  me,  who  have  done  you  so 
much  injury."  "  Oh,  that  was  the  fate  of  war,"  replied 
the  noble  man,  "  pray  think  no  more  of  it." 

What  a  contrast  do  the  characters  of  the  two  Amer 
ican  generals  present  under  the  different  circumstances 
in  which  they  are  placed  !  Gates,  made  dizzy  by  his 
success,  commences  plotting  against  Washington,  and 
in  his  supercilious  pride  refuses,  as  a  subordinate  offi 
cer,  to  make  any  report  to  him ;  while  Schuyler,  un 
changed  by  misfortune  or  unjust  treatment,  renders 
freely  and  nobly  to  Congress  the  knowledge  he  pos 
sesses  of  the  Northern  department,  and  offers  his  advice 
and  counsel  as  to  the  best  mode  of  securing  the  great 
est  benefits  from  this  victory.  But  time,  which  "  sets 
all  things  even,"  has  put  these  two  commanders  in 
their  proper  places.  Gates  lived  to  see  the  laurels 
wither  on  his  brow,  and  discover  that  his  great  tri 
umph  only  made  more  prominent  the  defects  and 
weakness,  of  his  character ;  while  Schuyler's  apparent 
disgrace  served  to  illustrate  him,  and  show  to  the 
world  the  transcendent  qualities  he  possessed.  Gates 
on  the  field  of  Saratoga  a  victor,  and  Schuyler  there 


256  MAJOR     GENERAL     SCHUYLER. 

without  command,  seemed  very  unequal  candidates  for 
immortality ;  yet  who  would  not  now  prefer  the  fame 
of  the  latter  to  that  of  the  former. 

In  1778  his  wish  to  have  his  conduct,  in  evacuating 
Ticonderoga  and  Fort  Edward,  tried  before  a  court- 
martial,  was  gratified.     The  court  acquitted  him  with 
the  "  highest  honor,"  and  Congress  approved  the  de 
cision.     Washington  was  anxious  that  he  should  then 
resume  the  command  of  the  Northern  department,  but 
he  steadily  refused  all  requests  of  this  kind,  and  re 
signed  his  command  in  the  army.    In  this  he  did  right ; 
self-respect,  his  own  honor  and  reputation,  demanded 
that  he  should  no  longer  be  under  the  control  of  a  body 
which  underrated  his  services,  disregarded  his  repu 
tation,  and  stamped  him  with  public  odium.     He,  how 
ever,  did  not  retire  from  the  service  of  the  country, 
though  he  left  the  army.      In  1778  and  1779  he  ex 
hibited  his  zeal  as  member  of  Congress,  and  in  1781 
was  elected  member  of  the  New  York  senate,  which 
seat  he  held  for  several  years.    In  1789  he  was  elected 
member  of  the  first  senate  under  the  federal  constitu 
tion,  which  he  had  supported  with  the  whole  weight 
of  his  character  and  ability.     In  1796  he  is  seen  in  the 
New  York  senate,  urging  a  plan  for  the  improvement 
of  the  revenue  of  the  state.     In  1797  he  was  again 
elected  senator  in  Congress,  but  was  soon  compelled, 
from  ill  health,  to  resign,  and  ever  after  lived  in  retire 
ment.     Honors  clustered  around  his  declining  years, 
and  the  country  for  which  he  had  perilled  so  much,  at 
last  appreciated  the  labor  he  had  performed,  and  the 
patriotism  with  which  he  had  borne  his  misfortunes. 
When  Washington  died,  the  good  old  man  clad  himself 


HIS     CHARACTER.  257 

in  deep  mourning,  and  wept  like  a  son  for  the  "  father 
of  his  country."  Domestic  afflictions  gathered  around 
him  at  the  close  of  his  life,  but  he  found  consolation  in 
the  Christian  religion,  of  which  he  was  a  firm  believer. 
In  1801  he  lost  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer ;  in 
1803  he  laid  his  noble  wife  in  the  grave,  and  the  next 
year  his  son-in-law,  General  Hamilton,  of  whom  he 
was  justly  proud,  was  killed  in  a  duel.  The  aged  vet 
eran  did  not  long  survive  these  successive  blows,  and 
in  November  of  this  same  year,  1804,  he  also,  at  the 
age  of  seventy-one,  departed  to  a  better  world. 

HIS    CHARACTER. 

'•  • 

General  Schuyler  was  one  of  those  men  who  honor 
our  race.  Rich  and  prosperous  at  the  outset  of  the  Re 
volution,  he  cheerfully  embarked  his  fortune  and  his  life 
in  the  doubtful  struggle  on  which  we  entered.  A  life 
of  ease  was  surrendered  for  the  toilsome  one  of  the 
camp,  and  amid  embarrassments  and  difficulties  we 
cannot  now  appreciate,  he  bore  up  with  a  fortitude  and 
energy  worthy  the  friend  of  Washington.  Full  of 
energy  and  industry,  of  great  knowledge  and  great 
resources,  he  brought  incalculable  aid  to  the  cause  of 
freedom.  Possessed  of  solid  rather  than  brilliant  quali 
ties,  he  was  better  fitted  to  shine  in  the  cabinet  than  in 
the  field.  Not  that  he  was  deficient  as  a  commander, 
but  that  the  love  of  military  glory,  and  adventurous 
deeds  and  the  deadly  conflict,  were  not  so  much  suited 
to  his  tastes  as  the  more  peaceful  career  of  the  states 
man.  Yet  his  services  while  in  command  of  the  North- 
22* 


258        MAJOR  GENERAL  SCHUYLER. 

ern  department  were  invaluable — nothing  escaped  his 
attention,  and  he  effected  as  much  by  preventing  as  by 
conquering  difficulties.  The  Indians,  whom  he  held  in 
such  constant  check  on  our  northern  and  western  fron 
tier,  felt  that  he  was  the  strongest  enemy  they  had  to 
encounter.  They  made  two  attempts  to  assassinate 
him,  illustrating  equally  their  fear  of  his  power  and 
their  respect  for  him  as  a  man.  The  first  attempt  was 
frustrated  by  the  presence  of  mind  of  a  female  servant. 
In  the  other  instance,  two  men,  an  Indian  and  a  tory, 
lay  in  ambush  together  near  his  house,  to  shoot  him 
as  he  passed.  As  Schuyler  approached  on  horseback, 
they  took  deliberate  aim,  and  his  death  seemed  in 
evitable  :  but  at  this  critical  moment  the  Indian  knock 
ed  up  his  associate's  gun,  saying,  "  /  cannot  kill  him,  I 
have  eaten  his  bread  too  often"  Thus  respected,  even 
by  his  enemies,  for  the  nobleness  of  his  character,  he 
passed  through  his  trying  career  without  a  spot  on  his 
name. 

There  was  not  a  mean  trait  in  Schuyler's  character, 
and  though  of  a  quick  temper,  he  was  one  of  those 
magnanimous,  high-souled  men,  whose  virtue  can  be 
touched  neither  by  rewards  nor  disgrace.  His  con 
duct,  when  superseded  by  Gates,  was  one  of  the  no 
blest  triumphs  of  patriotism  and  virtue  over  envy,  jeal 
ousy,  and  the  consciousness  of  being  wronged.  His 
domestic  and  social  qualities  were  of  the  highest  order, 
and  endeared  him  to  his  family,  and  made  him  beloved 
by  a  wide  circle  of  friends,  whom  his  large  hospitality 
never  wearied  of  entertaining. 

One  of  his  last  acts  was  to  manumit  all  his  slaves, 


HIS     CHARACTER.  259 

leaving  each  of  them  sufficient   property  to    relieve 
them  from  want. 

A  truer  sword  was  never  drawn  in  defence  of  hu 
man  liberty,  and  a  more  untarnished  blade  never  re 
turned  to  its  scabbard  when  the  conflict  was  over. 


VII. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  GATES.  • 

His  Early  Life — Is  Wounded  at  the  Battle  of  Monongahela — Ap 
pointed  Brigadier  General  of  the  American  Army — Commands  the 
Northern  Army— First  Battle  of  Bemis's  Heights — Second  Battle 
of  Bemis's  Heights — Scene  after  the  Battle — Gates's  Vanity  and 
Meanness — Plots  against  Washington — Battle  of  Camden — Bravery 
of  De  Kalb— Gates's  Character. 

ALTHOUGH  at  the  commencement  of  the  Revolution 
the  country  was  so  largely  supplied  by  emigration,  there 
were  but  few  native-born  English  found  in  the  army. 
The  commanding  officers  especially,  who  proved  most 
efficient,  were  Americans  by  birth.  Their  early  train 
ing  amid  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  our  new  settle 
ments,  gave  them  enterprise  and  daring,  while  their 
hardy  and  independent  life  rendered  them  stern  re 
publicans  and  enduring  soldiers.  Montgomery,  and 
Gates,  and  Conway,  and  Lee  were  the  only  exceptions ; 
all  being  Englishmen,  and  all  having  served  as  officers 
in  the  British  army.  The  former  fell  gloriously  before 
Quebec,  while  the  rest,  one  after  another,  came  very 
near  effecting  our  ruin.* 

Horatio  Gates  was  born  in  England  in  1729,  and  at 
an  early  age  entered  the  English  army.  At  the  cap- 

*  St.  Clair  was  born  in  England,  but  never  served  in  the  army 
there. 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  261 

ture  of  Martinico  by  the  English  he  acted  as  aid  to 
General  Monkton,  and  after  the  peace  of  Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle,  sailed  for  Halifax  under  Cornwallis.  He  was  in 
the  bloody  battle  of  Monongahela,  and  while  striving 
manfully,  side  by  side  with  Washington,  to  stem  that 
dreadful  slaughter,  received  a  shot  through  the  body 
and  was  hurried  from  the  field.  After  the  conclusion 
of  the  war  he  bought  an  estate  in  Berkeley  county,  Vir 
ginia,  and  settled  down  as  a  planter.  In  the  quarrel 
which  soon  after  commenced  between  the  colonies  and 
the  parent  country,  he  proved  true  to  the  land  of  his 
adoption,  and  so  strenuously  maintained  its  rights,  and 
advocated  resistance,  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  one 
of  the  prominent  leaders  in  the  approaching  struggle. 
When  hostilities  commenced,  among  the  first  appoint 
ments  made  out  by  Congress  was  one  constituting  him 
adjutant-general,  with  the  rank  of  brigadier.  The 
next  year  he  was  appointed  to  supersede  General 
Schuyler  in  the  command  of  the  northern  army,  and 
took  post  at  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point.  A  short 
time  after,  Schuyler  was  reinstated  in  his  old  rank,  but 
gave  way  the  next  spring  to  Gates,  who  held  his  place 
as  commander-in-chief  till  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne. 
The  invasion  of  Burgoyne  was  one  of  the  important 
events  in  the  history  of  the  war.  Accompanied  by 
more  than  seven  thousand  veteran  troops  and  three 
thousand  Canadians,  and  supported  by  a  train  of  forty 
cannon,  the  plan  of  cutting  the  country  in  two,  and 
stretching  a  cordon  of  fortresses  from  the  British  pro 
vinces  to  New  York  city,  seemed  to  promise  complete 
success.  This  large  army,  with  its  splendid  train  of 
artillery,  its  picked  engineers  and  secondary  officers 


262  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

of  renown  and  experience,  was  the  finest  that  had  ever 
attempted  an  invasion  of  the  country.  Driving  every 
thing  before  them,  crushing  our  strongest  forts  in  their 
passage,  the  heads  of  the  menacing  columns  were  al 
ready  almost  within  striking  distance  of  Albany.  Crown 
Point,  old  Ticonderoga,  Forts  Anne  and  Edward,  those 
keys  of  the  Union,  had  fallen,  one  after  another — the 
dreary  wilderness  had  been  passed,  and  a  feeble  retreat 
ing  army  seemed  the  only  obstacle  between  Burgoyne 
and  the  object  of  his  wishes.  But  the  eighteen  miles 
of  forest  between  Lake  George  and  the  nearest  navi 
gable  part  of  the  Hudson,  through  which  he  had  to 
carry  all  his  baggage,  stores  and  artillery,  had  caused 
delays  that  gave  time  to  rouse  the  militia,  so  that  when 
he  emerged  into  the  open  country  a  vast  army  met  his 
astonished  gaze.  The  sudden  upspringing  of  this  host 
of  freemen  in  his  path,  sent  a  chill  to  his  heart ;  and 
those  visions  of  glory  which  beckoned  him  on  began  to 
grow  dim,  and  sad  forebodings  fill  the  future. 

As  we  have  seen,  Stark' s  victory  at  Bennington  had 
roused  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire  to  throw  a  strong 
force  in  his  rear,  threatening  his  very  garrisons  ;  while 
Fort  Stanwix,  on  the  fall  of  which  he  had  calculated 
so  much,  had  been  relieved,  and  thus  destroyed  all 
hopes  of  assistance  from  that  quarter.  And  here  he 
stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  in  the  heart  of  an 
enemy's  country — a  wilderness  behind  him,  and  a  de 
termined  foe  before  him.  It  was  a  sad  spectacle,  that 
noble  army,  thus  cut  off  from  all  relief,  casting  about 
for  some  way  of  escape,  and  finally  resolving  to  cut  its 
way  onward  or  fall  in  the  effort.  This  was  the  state 
of  affairs  when  Gates  took  command  of  the  army. 


FIRST     BATTLE.  263 

Burgoyne  waited  for  provisions,  which  had  to  be  brought 
from  Ticonderoga,  and  at  length,  after  incredible  ef 
forts,  collected  enough  for  thirty  days,  and  pushed  on 
to  the  plains  and  heights  of  Saratoga,  within  three 
miles  of  the  American  camp. 


Immediately  forming  his  troops  in  order  of  battle, 
he  rested  one  extremity  of  his  army  on  the  bank  of 
the  Hudson,  while  the  other  stretched  across  the 
country,  and  up  to  the  high  grounds,  some  distance 
from  the  river.  This  latter  constituted  the  right  wing, 
and  around  it,  flanking  it,  hovered  the  light  infantry 
and  grenadiers.  Here  too,  amid  the  broken  ground 
and  trees,  were  posted  the  Canadians  and  Indians. 
Over  the  left  wing,  resting  on  the  river,  Phillips  and 
Reidesel  were  placed,  with  the  immense  train  of  artil 
lery.  Parallel  to  this,  stretching  in  the  same  manner 
from  the  Hudson  to  the  high  ground,  Gates  drew  up 
his  forces,  though  the  flats  in  that  place  were  narrower 
than  where  Burgoyne  was  posted,  being  only  about 
forty  rods  wide.  He  himself  commanded  the  right 
wing,  resting  on  the  river,  and  Arnold  the  left,  on 
the  heights.  With  a  steady  movement  the  whole 
British  line  swept  forward,  when  Arnold,  eager  for 
the  combat,  urged  Gates  to  advance  and  meet  it. 
He  consented  that  Morgan  should  be  sent  forward 
with  his  riflemen,  and  his  attack,  if  necessary,  be  sup 
ported.  Arnold  gladly  took  advantage  of  this  permis 
sion,  and  the  battle  of  the  19th  of  September  opened. 
The  two  wings  of  the  two  armies,  in  the  meadows 


264  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

upon  the  river,  were  separated  by  a  deep  ravine  and 
two  streams,  and  hence  came  to  no  engagement  during 
the  day.  With  the  exception  of  one  regiment  taken 
from  a  brigade,  Arnold's  division  did  all  the  fighting. 

At  noon  the  firing  commenced.  Morgan  with  his 
light  horse,  and  Major  Dearborn  with  his  light  infantry, 
rushed  against  the  Canadians  and  Indians  on  the  hills  and 
routed  them.  The  sharp  crack  of  Morgan's  rifles  made 
the  woods  ring  ;  but  in  the  hurry  and  fury  of  their 
charge  the  men  became  scattered,  and  their  leader 
was  seen  riding  around  almost  alone,  making  the  woods 
echo  with  his  turkey-call — the  signal-whistle  for  their 
return,  while  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  swore  that  he 
was  ruined.  But  soon  the  brave  fellows  came  rush 
ing  back  in  every  direction,  and  the  loud  voice  of  their 
leader  was  again  heard  cheering  them  to  the  onset.  As 
he  and  Dearborn  were  following  up  their  advantage,  re 
inforcements  of  the  enemy  came  up  and  forced  them 
back  to  the  line.  Burgoyne  immediately  stretched  his 
right  up  the  hills,  and  pushed  his  left  wing  still  farther  on, 
in  order  to  outflank  Arnold,  who  had  now  arrived  on 
the  field,  and  was  leading  his  division  into  action.  But 
the  latter  was  endeavoring  to  execute  a  similar  manoeu 
vre  on  him,  and  the  lines  again  met,  and  the  conflict  at 
once  became  furious. 

At  this  moment  reinforcements,  under  General 
Phillips,  approached.  His  position  was  in  the  meadows 
below,  and  a  piece  of  woods  separated  him  from  the 
combatants.  But  the  rapid  and  continuous  roll  of 
musketry,  with  ever  and  anon  explosions  of  artillery, 
and  clouds  of  smoke  that  rose  over  the  tree-tops,  told 
him  that  a  fierce  battle  was  raging  with  those  two  wings 


THE     BATTLE.  255 

of  the  army,  and  with  rapid  steps  he  led  his  column  up 
the  heights,  and  emerged  on  the  field  just  as  Arnold 
was  driving  everything  before  him,  and  threatening  to 
cut  the  entire  wing  asunder.  The  latter  struggled  des 
perately  to  bear  up  against  the  overwhelming  numbers 
which  now  arrested  his  progress,  but  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts  he  was  pushed  back  to  the  lines. 

It  was  now  about  three  o'clock,  and  a  sudden  cessa 
tion  of  arms  took  place,  while  the  two  divisions  pre 
pared  for  the  final  encounter.  An  oblong  clearing, 
about  sixty  rods  in  extent,  and  entirely  surrounded 
with  woods,  separated  them,  as  they  stood  out  of 
musket-shot  of  each  other,  like  the  opposite  sides  of  a 
parallelogram.  This  clearing  sloped  down  from  the 
northern  side  towards  the  southern,  on  which  the 
Americans  were  posted.  A  deep  wood  sheltered  them, 
while  the  British  were  drawn  up  in  an  open  pine  forest. 
The  scene  now  became  one  of  thrilling  interest.  As  the 
Americans  looked  out  from  their  leafy  covering,  they 
saw  amid  the  dark  pine  trees  on  the  farther  side,  long 
rows  of  brass  cannon  shining  through  the  green  foli 
age,  and  beside  them  the  gunners,  with  lighted  matches, 
while  still  farther  on  gleamed  the  solid  lines  of  steel 
bayonets.  Nought  broke  the  silence  that  wrapped 
the  heights,  save  the  hurried  orders,  as  regiment  after 
regiment  wheeled  into  its  place;  while  the  sun  shone 
sweetly  down  on  the  springing  grass,  gently  waving 
in  the  mild  September  breeze.  Thus  slept  that  quiet 
clearing  on  the  top  of  the  hills,  with  the  long  shad 
ows  of  the  trees  stretching  across  its  bosom — and  all 
around  it  lay  that  slumbering  volcano,  soon  to  move 
into  its  midst,  and  make  it  tremble  as  if  in  the  grasp 

VOL.  i.  23 


266  MAJOR  GENERAL  GATES. 

of  an  earthquake.  The  Americans  could  hear  dis 
tinctly  the  orders  given  in  the  English  army,  and 
waited,  with  beating  hearts,  the  shock  that  was  pre 
paring  for  them.  At  length  the  word  "  fire"  rang 
through  the  woods — the  lighted  matches  descended 
like  a  flash  on  the  guns,  and  the  next  moment  the  balls 
came  crashing  through  the  trees,  followed  by  an  explo 
sion  that  shook  the  hills,  and  the  battle  commenced. 
The  Americans  stood  firm  before  that  iron  storm, 
watching  the  shattered  boughs  that  were  hurled  about 
their  heads,  but  not  a  shot  replied.  Finding  that  the  can 
nonade  produced  no  impression,  the  English  comman 
der  ordered  the  woods  to  be  cleared  with  the  bayonet. 
In  perfect  order  and  close  array  that  veteran  infan 
try  emerged  from  the  pine  trees  into  the  clearing,  red 
dening  the  whole  extent  with  their  scarlet  uniforms. 
In  double-quick  time,  with  their  standards  streaming  in 
the  wind,  and  the  drums  beating  their  wildest  notes, 
they  swept  over  the  open  ground,  and  steadily  moved 
up  to  the  farther  margin.  All  there  was  still  and  motion 
less,  though  thousands  of  flashing  eyes  were  on  the  ad 
vancing  battalions,  and  thousands  of  sinewy  hands  were 
clutching  convulsively  their  trusty  muskets.  At  length 
those  steady  troops  approached  the  American  lines  ; 
when  suddenly  halting,  they  poured  in  one  deep  volley 
— the  next  moment  their  levelled  bayonets  gleamed 
through  the  smoke,  and,  with  deafening  shouts,  they 
rushed  to  the  charge.  A  single  order  echoed  along  the 
concealed  ranks,  and  in  an  instant  that  silent  wood  was 
a  mass  of  flame  rolling  on  the  foe.  The  firm-set  ranks 
staggered  back  before  it,  like  a  strong  ship  smitten  by  a 
wave,  then  with  a  noble  effort  closed  up  the  huge  gaps 


THE     BATTLE.  267 

in  their  line,  and  again  rushed  shouting  to  the  charge. 
But  that  same  astonishing  fire  mowed  them  down,  till 
torn  and  rent  into  fragments,  they  turned  and  fled. 
Then  like  a  tiger  springing  from  his  covert,  the  Ameri 
cans  leaped  from  their  concealment,  and  poured  in  one 
wild  torrent  upon  them.  Over  their  dead  and  dying 
enemies,  across  the  clearing,  up  to  the  very  British  lines, 
and  over  the  guns,  they  went  in  one  black  resistless  wave. 
The  artillery  was  captured,  and  the  exulting  victors  seiz 
ing  the  drag-ropes,  attempted  to  carry  it  away,  but  the 
pieces  were  too  heavy,  and  the  wood  too  dense.  They 
cannot  turn  them  on  the  enemy,  for  the  artillerists  have 
carried  off  the  matches.  One  only  is  seized,  and  Colo 
nel  Cilley  has  mounted  it,  and  with  his  sword  admin 
istered  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  thus  in  triumph  is 
borne  over  the  field. 

The  British,  rallying  in  the  woods,  made  a  desperate 
charge  to  recover  their  guns,  and  finally  drove  the  brave 
militia-men  back,  down  the  slope  to  their  covert.  But 
here  again  they  were  met  by  those  destructive  vollies 
— whole  companies  sunk  at  once  on  the  field,  and  the 
solid  formation  which  is  necessary  to  give  terror  to 
the  shock  of  the  bayonet,  was  utterly  broken.  Falling 
back,  they  attempted  to  reform  in  the  clearing,  but  the 
Americans  were  upon  them  with  such  fury,  that  they 
broke,  and  fled  to  the  protection  of  their  guns.  But 
up  to  the  very  muzzles  the  maddened  patriots  rush, 
and  bayonet  the  gunners  at  their  pieces,  and  hurl  the 
whole  British  line  back  into  the  woods.  Here  Bur- 
goyne  again  rallied  his  men,  and  with  levelled  bayonets 
they  advanced  to  the  charge.  Forced  slowly  back,  the 
Americans  again  retreat,  while  those  cannon  pour  a 


268  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

perfect  storm  of  rt>und  and  grape-shot  into  their  ranks, 
and  all  over  the  field  are  seen  wounded  men  crawling 
away  to  the  wood.  But  rallying  behind  their  covert, 
they  present  the  same  wall  of  fire  on  which  the  bravest 
grenadiers  dash  in  vain. 

Thus  the  battle  swayed  to  and  fro  across  this  clear 
ing  for  three  fearful  hours.  It  was  one  continued 
thunder-clap  and  driving  mass  of  flame  over  its  bosom, 
while  the  cries  and  shouts  of  maddened  men  added  still 
greater  terror  to  the  scene.  Now  closing  in  with  the 
bayonet,  now  retiring  before  the  destructive  discharges 
of  grape-shot,  and  now  sweeping  with  loud  huzzas  over 
the  captured  guns,  they  fought  with  an  energy  and  des 
peration  that  perfectly  astonished  their  adversaries. 
The  oldest  officers  declared  they  had  never  witnessed 
such  destructive  work  with  small-arms,  or  such  terrible 
firing  from  infantry.  Before  their  onset,  the  firmest 
troops  went  down,  and  again  and  again  did  they 
charge  those  strong  batteries  home,  and  wrench  them 
from  the  grasp  of  the  enemy.  Out  of  forty-eight  men 
who  commanded  one  battery,  thirty-six  were  killed 
— the  dead  lay  in  heaps  amid  the  wheels  of  the  car 
riages,  while  the  blood  stood  in  pools  over  the  clearing. 
In  the  midst  of  this  carnage  the  sun  went  down — his 
farewell  beams  just  gleamed  a  moment  through  the 
sulphurous  cloud  that  curtained  in  the  field,  and  then 
twilight  slowly  settled  over  the  landscape.  Through 
the  deepening  gloom,  bright  flashes  were  seen  as  the 
dark  columns  still  rushed  to  the  encounter ;  but  at 
length  deep  night  came  on,  and  the  battle  ceased. 
Here  and  there  detached  parties  still  maintained  the 
fight,  lighting  up  the  forest  with  their  vollies,  but  the 


APPEARANCE     OF     THE     FIELD.  269 

great  struggle  was  over,  and  night  and  death  remained 
sole  masters  of  the  field.  On  that  single  clearing  were 
piled  nearly  a  thousand  men,  covering  it  with  a  perfect 
carpet  of  corpses,  and  all  around  was  scattered  the 
wreck  of  the  fight.  Here  lay  a  trampled  plume,  there 
a  neglected  sword,  further  on  a  rent  banner,  while  the 
blue  frocks  of  the  American  militia-men  and  the  scarlet 
uniforms  of  the  British  soldiers  were  mingled  together  in 
inextricable  confusion.  Arms  raised  an  hour  before  in 
hate  and  rage,  now  lay  across  each  other  in  the  repose 
of  death,  and  over  the  still  scowling  brow  the  dews 
of  night  slowly  gathered.  But  even  this  desolate  scene 
was  soon  rendered  more  appalling ;  for  the  soldiers  in 
search  of  spoil  stripped  the  bodies  and  left  them  naked 
corpses,  ghastly  and  white  in  the  cold  starlight.  Kind 
fathers  were  there,  and  noble  sons,  who  had  left  their 
hearth-stones  to  battle  for  freedom,  and  thus  they  had 
fallen  before  the  stroke  of  the  oppressor.  There  they 
still  sleep,  and  no  monument,  alas,  rises  over  their  dust 
to  tell  of  their  deeds. 

Both  parties  claimed  the  victory ;  but  the  English 
remained  masters  of  the  field,  and  lay  all  night  under 
arms,  and  Gates  retired  behind  his  intrenchments. 
The  next  morning  Burgoyne  pitched  his  camp  within 
cannon-shot  of  the  American  lines,  and  began  to  in 
trench  himself,  throwing  up  strong  defences  both  on 
the  meadows  and  among  the  hills.  Gates  also  strength 
ened  his  position,  and  thus  the  two  armies  lay  within 
cannon-shot  of  each  other  for  sixteen  days. 

It  was  at  this  time  the  quarrel  commenced  between 
Gates  and  Arnold,  mentioned  in  the  sketch  of  the  latter. 
Arnold  had  been  a  great  favorite  of  the  former,  while 

23* 


270  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

under  his  command  at  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point, 
and  he  had  defended  him  constantly  against  his  ene 
mies.  He  had  even  stretched  his  power  to  cover  up 
some  transactions  which  were  looked  upon  at  the  time 
as  of  rather  doubtful  character.  But  vanity  and  selfish 
ness  now  stepped  in,  and  prompted  him  to  commit  an 
act  of  injustice,  and  they  became  open  enemies.  Gates 
deemed  his  enemy  secure,  and  so  cared  not  whether 
Arnold  stayed  or  left;  but  war  has  many  chances,  and 
the  removal  on  the  eve  of  battle  of  a  victorious  general, 
in  whom  the  troops  have  confidence,  and  who  is  a  host 
in  himself,  often  makes  a  wide  difference  in  the  result. 
During  the  interval  between  the  19th  of  September 
and  the  7th  of  October,  constant  skirmishes  took  place 
between  detached  parties,  resulting  from  the  efforts  of 
the  Americans  to  prevent  the  enemy  from  foraging. 
Burgoyne,  though  taught  a  sad  lesson,  by  the  battle 
that  had  been  fought,  of  American  valor  and  steadiness, 
still  clung  to  his  first  dream,  and  looked  long  and  wist 
fully  for  aid  from  New  York,  and  refused  to  retreat. 
At  length  his  provisions  becoming  nearly  exhausted, 
he  resolved  to  make  another  desperate  effort  to  cut  his 
way  through  the  American  lines,  and  push  on  to  Albany 

SECOND    BATTLE    OF    BEMIs's    HEIGHTS. 

To  understand  the  general  plan  of  the  battle-field, 
imagine  the  American  camp  pitched  on  a  branch  of 
the  Hudson,  and  extending  back  about  a  half  a  mile 
from  the  shore.  Almost  directly  in  front,  and  within 
cannon-shot,  is  the  British  camp,  similarly  situated. 
A  little  to  the  north  and  west  of  the  British  encamp- 


OPENING     OF     THE     BATTLE. 


271 


ment,  was  a  large  redoubt  occupied  by  the  Hessians,  and 
the  one  which  Arnold  entered.  Between  the  two  armies 
were  two  creeks  running  nearly  parallel  to  each  other, 
along  which  the  American  pickets  were  stationed. 
These  presented  serious  obstacles  to  the  advance  of 
an  army,  while  towards  their  sources,  and  to  the  left 
of  Gates,  the  approach  was  easier.  It  was  on  this  ac 
count  Burgoyne  resolved  to  make  his  attack  in  that 
direction.  Accordingly,  on  the  7th  of  October,  moving 
his  troops  in  three  columns,  he  advanced  to  the  Amer 
ican  left,  and  taking  up  his  position  in  an  open  wheat 
field,  displayed  his  line.  The  fierce  and  rapid  roll  of 
drums  in  the  American  advance  guard,  beating  to  arms, 
announced  their  approach,  and  Gates  immediately  sent 
out  Morgan  with  his  riflemen  to  open  the  battle. 

Burgoyne,  sustained  by  his  best  officers,  occupied 
a  rising  ground,  and  Morgan  took  a  wide  circuit  to 
fall  on  his  right,  while  General  Poor  was  to  march 
straight  up  the  hill  against  the  left,  and  if  possible  sepa 
rate  it  from  the  main  army.  Burgoyne  had  with  him 
twenty  cannon ;  and  with  these,  at  half-past  two  in  the 
afternoon,  he  opened  on  the  advancing  column  of  Poor. 
But  this  gallant  officer  led  his  brigade  steadily  forward 
up  the  hill ;  and  with  the  orders  not  to  fire  till  the  sum 
mit  was  reached,  pressed  rapidly  on  through  the  storm 
of  grape-shot.  With  the  same  coolness  he  entered  the 
deadly  vollies  of  musketry,  then  as  he  gained  the  brow 
of  the  height,  opened  to  the  right  and  left,  and  poured 
in  a  close  and  rapid  fire  with  terrible  effect.  Moving 
resolutely  forward  upon  the  dense  masses  of  the  gren 
adiers,  the  Americans  mowed  them  down  with  volley 
after  volley,  and  stood  within  close  musket-shot  of  the 


272  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

artillery,  and  let  it  play  upon  their  ranks.     But  nothing 
could  long  withstand  those  murderous  batteries,  and 
the    Americans,  excited   to  madness  by  the   galling, 
devouring  fire,  rushed  with  terrific  shouts  up  to  the 
very   mouths   of  the   guns,   and    swept   them   like   a 
storm.     But  met  by  those  resistless  grenadiers,  they 
were   rolled   sternly  back   to  their   position.      Again 
they  rallied  and  charged  with  such  impetuosity,  that 
everything    went   down   in  their   passage:    but   that 
same  steady  valor  reclaimed  the  victory,  and  hurled 
them  back  to  their  first  position.     On  one  gun  they 
rushed  five  successive  times,  and  captured  it  in  each 
onset,  and  as  often  were  forced   to  relinquish   their 
prize,  until  at  length  they  carried  it  off  in  triumph.    Ma 
jor  Ackland,  who  commanded  the  grenadiers,  held  them 
to  the  shock  with  a  firmness  that  baffled  every  effort. 
Galloping  fiercely  amid  the  disordered  ranks,  he  ral 
lied  them  again  and  again  by  his  voice  and  example, 
until  at  last  he  himself  was  struck  to  the  ground  by  a  ball, 
when  they  broke  and  fled.     Morgan,  in  the  meantime, 
with  his  deadly  riflemen  had  poured  down  with  resist 
less  strength  on  the  left  wing,  carrying  everything  be 
fore  him.     Rallying  bravely  behind  a  fence,  the  shat 
tered  troops  attempted  to  stay  his  progress ;   but  re 
inforcements   coming  up   under  Dearborn,  and  rush 
ing  with  shouts  and  headlong  fury  to  the  attack,  they 
again  broke  and  fled. 

The  whole  English  line  now  began  to  shake,  and 
Burgoyne  was  just  forming  a  second  line  with  his 
right  wing,  when  Arnold,  maddened  with  excitement, 
and  stung  with  rage,  burst  in  a  headlong  gallop  on 
the  field,  and  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight. 


THE     BATTLE.  273 

His  practised  eye  soon  saw  that  General  Frazer  was 
the  chief  support  of  that  tumultuous  battle,  as  on  his 
splendid  gray  horse  he  moved  amid  the  chaos,  bring 
ing  order  out  of  confusion,  and  courage  out  of  despon 
dency,  wherever  he  passed.  Dashing  up  to  Morgan, 
he  told  him  not  to  let  him  see  that  officer  long  in  the 
saddle.  The  latter,  selecting  a  few  of  his  best  marks 
men,  said,  pointing  to  Frazer :  "  That  gallant  officer  is 
General  Frazer :  I  admire  him,  but  it  is  necessary  he 
should  die.  Do  your  duty."  The  first  shot  cut  the 
crupper  of  his  horse,  the  second  pierced  the  mane,  the 
third  the  gallant  rider  himself,  and  he  fell  back  mortally 
wounded.  Arnold  had  no  sooner  given  this  order, 
than  he  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  three  regiments 
of  Larned's  brigade,  and  with  a  shout  those  who 
heard  it  never  forgot  to  their  latest  day,  led  them  fierce 
ly  on.  The  Hessian  troops  threw  themselves  in  his 
path,  and  for  a  moment  broke  his  charge.  The  next 
moment,  with  a  mere  handful  of  men,  he  burst  like  a 
falling  rock  through  their  midst,  and  scattered  them 
from  his  path.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  terror  and 
fury  of  his  charges :  before  such  onsets  the  firmest 
troops  in  the  world  must  sink.  He  shook  terribly  the 
whole  British  line,  and  Burgoyne,  now  thoroughly 
alarmed,  put  forth  a  desperate  effort  to  maintain  his 
ground.  But  in  vain  did  he  expose  himself  to  the  hot 
test  of  the  fire  to  animate  his  men — in  vain  did  his  bra 
vest  officers  again  and  again  lead  his  devoted  troops  to 
the  attack — nothing  could  stop  that  astonishing  infantry. 
Their  rapid  tread  shook  the  field — their  dreadful  vollies 
swept  away  the  head  of  every  formation,  as  pressing 
hard  after  their  intrepid  leader,  they  closed  steadily  on 


274  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

the  shrinking  line.  No  charge  of  bayonets  could 
break  their  firm  array,  no  blaze  of  the  close  and  deadly 
batteries  check  their  lofty  enthusiasm,  as  moving  amid 
the  horrid  carnage,  they  gathered  with  brows  of  wrath 
closer  and  closer  on  their  foes.  Those  shattered  vete 
rans  labored  a  moment  as  if  about  to  bear  up  in  the 
storm,  then  swung  and  rent  asunder,  and  rolled  heavily 
to  their  camp.  Morgan  and  Dearborn  and  Ten  Broek 
following  up  their  advantage  with  the  same  impetu 
osity,  the  whole  army  took  refuge  behind  the  intrench- 
ments.  Nothing  could  now  arrest  the  victorious  Amer 
icans,  as  with  shouts  that  were  heard  above  the  din  of 
battle,  they  rushed  forward  and  stormed  the  camp 
itself.  But  behind  their  intrenchments  and  under  cover 
of  their  heavy  guns,  which  bristled  in  fearful  rows  along 
the  ramparts,  the  British  fought  with  the  energy  of 
desperation  itself.  On  the  uncovered  ranks  of  the  im 
petuous  Americans  they  opened  all  their  batteries,  and 
hailed  a  leaden  tempest  from  the  small-arms,  while 
bombs,  hissing  through  the  atmosphere  darkened  with 
dust  and  smoke,  added  tenfold  horror  to  the  fight. 
They  were  no  longer  struggling  for  victory  but  for 
life,  and  therefore  summoned  all  their  energies  to 
check  the  progress  of  the  victors.  But  neither  formi 
dable  intrenchments  with  the  abatis  in  front,  nor  the 
hotly-worked  batteries  exploding  in  their  faces,  nor 
the  close  and  destructive  vollies  of  musketry,  could 
stay  the  excited  patriots.  Through  the  tremendous 
fire,  and  over  the  ensanguined  field,  now  covered  with 
a  sulphurous  cloud,  amid  which  incessant  lightnings 
played,  and  one  continuous  thunder-peal  rolled,  they 
charged  up  to  the  very  muzzles  of  the  guns.  The 


SCENE     AFTER     THE     BATTLE.  275 

camp  itself  was  shaken  throughout  its  entire  extent, 
and  trembled  like  a  reed  in  the  blast ;  while  Arnold, 
enraged  at  the  abatis,  which  baffled  all  his  efforts  in 
front,  called  around  him  a  few  brave  fellows,  and  taking 
a  short  circuit,  made  that  desperate  charge  into  the 
sally-port,  where  he  fell.  One  hour  more  of  day 
light,  and  that  camp  would  have  been  swept  as  with  a 
hurricane ;  nay,  one  hour  more  of  safety  to  Arnold  on 
his  steed,  and  that  darkness  would  have  been  filled  with 
the  flying  enemy,  and  a  routed  camp  ended  the  day. 

At  length  the  thunder  died  on  the  field,  the  conflict 
was  over,  and  the  American  columns  slowly  retired, 
and  marched  triumphantly  back  to  camp.  The  scene 
within  the  American  lines  was  now  one  of  intense  ex 
citement,  though  of  quite  another  kind.  At  the  open 
ing  of  the  battle,  Gates  had  ordered  all  the  baggage  to 
be  loaded  and  the  teams  attached,  ready  in  case  of  dis 
aster  to  retreat.  These  teams,  with  their  drivers, 
stretched  more  than  a  half  a  mile  back  into  the  coun 
try.  During  the  day,  when  the  firing  seemed  to  gain 
on  the  Americans,  they  would  move  on  in  alarm,  and 
when  again  it  retired,  they  would  halt.  At  length, 
as  the  news  was  brought  that  the  whole  English  army 
was  retreating,  a  loud  joyous  "  huzza  !  huzza  !"  ran  the 
whole  length  of  the  line  of  teams,  carrying  in  exulting 
accents  to  the  people  the  news  of  victory.  From 
every  farm-house  and  hut  in  the  whole  region,  the  ex 
cited  inhabitants  came  streaming  forth,  and  hurried  to 
the  American  camp,  shouting  like  mad  creatures  in 
their  frantic  joy.  In  the  meantime  the  columns,  one 
after  another,  returned  from  the  field  of  battle,  playing 
triumphant  music  as  they  came,  making  the  night  echo 


276  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

with  the  roll  of  the  drum  and  the  shrill  tones  of  the  fife. 
As  they  approached  the  camp,  "  VICTORY  !  VICTORY  !w 
went  up  in  shouts,  and  was  echoed  from  rank  to  rank, 
and  then  the  long  loud  "huzza"  from  those  who  watched 
their  coming,  rent  the  heavens.  In  the  outskirts,  sen 
tinels  hailed  each  other  through  the  gloom,  and  lights 
danced  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness,  while  the  groans 
of  the  wounded,  borne  slowly  past,  added  still  deeper 
interest  to  the  scene.  The  dead  lay  in  piles  on  the 
field — and  amid  them  also  were  found  men  and  wo 
men,  who,  like  the  crowds  which  follow  in  the  wake  of 
an  European  army,  were  so  lost  to  humanity  as  to  plun 
der  and  strip  the  bodies.  Next  morning  naked  corpses 
were  scattered  around  in  every  direction — in  the  edges 
of  the  forest,  on  the  meadows  and  hillocks,  with  their 
limbs  flung  out  upon  the  dewy  grass,  they  lay  cold  and 
white  in  the  October  sun. 

The  British  army  abandoned  their  camp  during 
the  night,  and  took  post  on  the  hills,  and  in  the  morn 
ing  the  American  troops  marched  into  it  with  colors 
flying  and  drums  beating,  and  a  long  shout  went  up 
from  the  abandoned  intrenchments.  During  the  day 
a  scattered  fire  of  artillery  was  kept  up,  and  ever  and 
anon  was  borne  back  to  the  camp  the  rapid  discharge 
of  musketry,  as  small  detachments  from  either  army 
came  in  collision.  Frazer,  who  had  died  early  in  the 
morning  after  the  battle,  had  requested  to  be  buried 
at  sunset  in  the  chief  redoubt.  The  procession  was 
formed,  and  at  six  o'clock  was  seen  moving  slowly  up 
the  hill  to  the  place  of  interment.  General  Winslow 
observed  it,  and  not  knowing  its  object  or  character, 
ordered  it  to  be  cannonaded;  and  while  they  were  lay- 


BURIAL     OF     FRAZER.  277 

ing  the  chieftain  in  his  grave,  a  solitary  cannon  kept 
booming  at  intervals  on  the  evening  air,  and  the  heavy 
shot  tore  up  the  earth  in  their  midst.  Throughout  the 
solemn  burial-service,  the  voice  of  the  chaplain  was 
ever  and  anon  interrupted  by  that  solitary  peal  of 
thunder,  and  his  priestly  robes  were  covered  with  dust, 
which  the  ball,  as  it  smoked  past,  threw  upon  him.* 
The  sun  had  now  gone  down,  and  twilight  drew  its 
mantle  over  the  scene.  The  American  officers  discov 
ering  at  length  that  it  was  a  funeral  procession,  ceased 
playing  upon  it,  and  in  sympathy  with  the  brave  who 
had  fallen,  fired  minute  guns  till  the  solemn  ceremony 
was  over.  It  was  a  burial  worthy  of  the  chieftain  who 
had  thus  fallen  on  his  last  battle-field.  Amid  the  thun 
der  of  artillery,  he  was  borne  from  the  disastrous  fight 
— the  enemy's  guns  pealed  over  his  grave,  and  when 
the  mute  procession  turned  away  in  the  gathering 
shades  of  evening,  their  cannon  gave  his  last  salute, 
and  the  sullen  echo,  as  it  rolled  over  the  hills,  was  his 
only  requiem. 

Burgoyne,  now  convinced  that  he  could  not  cut  his 
way  through  the  American  army,  took  the  only  alter 
native  left  him,  and  began  his  retreat,  hoping  to  retrace 
his  steps  to  Lake  George,  and  from  thence  to  Canada. 
This  he  should  have  done  sooner — now  it  was  too  late 
— for  the  American  army,  extending  itself  on  every' 
side,  baffled  all  his  efforts,  and  soon  well-nigh  com 
pleted  a  circle  about  him.  In  every  direction  the  roar 
of  cannon  told  that  the  avenues  of  safety  were  cut  off. 
Even  the  last  desperate  effort,  to  abandon  all  his  ar 
tillery  and  baggage,  and  by  a  rapid  night  march  reach 

*     *   Vide  Burgoyne. 
/OL.  I.  24 


278  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

Lake  George,  was  seen  to  be  useless.  Still  Burgoyne 
lingered — his  proud  heart  refused  to  yield  to  the  stern 
necessity  which  bound  him.  What !  that  splendid  army, 
on  whose  success  he  had  staked  his  reputation,  be  sur 
rendered,  and  all  his  bright  visions  sink  at  once  ?  The 
thought  was  too  bitter,  and  he  still  clung  to  hope,  and 
dreamed  of  escaping  by  some  accident  from  the  perils 
that  only  thickened  as  he  advanced.  For  six  days  he 
turned  and  turned,  like  a  scorpion  girt  with  fire,  as 
every  moment  the  devouring  element  rages  nearer — his 
camp  was  uncovered,  and  cannon  balls  were  contin 
ually  falling  into  it,  while  from  every  height  the  artil 
lery  played  upon  him,  and  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle 
was  heard  along  his  lines.  He  could  not  enter  a  house 
without  its  becoming  in  a  moment  a  target  for  the  bat 
teries.  Through  the  hall  of  council,  and  through  the 
apartment  in  which  they  sat  at  their  scanty  dinner, 
the  cannon  balls  would  crash,  and  it  was  a  constant 
and  steadily  increasing  storm  of  iron  around  him.  At 
length  all  hope  was  abandoned,  and  a  council  of  war 
was  called  to  deliberate  on  the  terms  of  capitulation. 
Their  consultations  were  interrupted  by  the  whistling 
of  bullets  and  roar  of  artillery,  and  the  very  tent  in 
which  they  sat  was  pierced  by  the  American  marks 
men.  Pride  and  ambition  at  length  yielded  to  inevi 
table  fate,  and  that  splendid  army,  the  relics  of  ten 
thousand  men,  laid  down  its  arms.  Forty-two  brass 
cannon,  five  thousand  stand  of  arms,  and  all  the  camp 
equipage  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans. 

Gates  received  the  vanquished  commander  with  cour 
tesy,  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  frock,  while  the  soldiers,  on 
marching  out  to  pile  their  arms,  found  not  an  Ameri- 


INSULTS     WASHINGTON.  279 

can  in  the  field.  The  brave  fellows  were  spared  the 
mortification  of  grounding  their  arms  in  the  presence 
of  their  enemies.  But  afterwards  they  were  formed 
in  line,  and  escorted  by  a  light  company  of  dragoons, 
bearing  the  stars  and  stripes  over  their  heads,  were 
conducted  through  the  American  army,  drawn  up  in 
parallel  lines.  This  avenue  of  victorious  soldiers  ex 
tended  nearly  a  mile  ;  and  as  the  vanquished  troops 
filed  off  between  them,  the  American  bands  struck  up 
Yankee  Doodle,  till  the  hills  rung  again  with  the  ex 
ultant  strain.*1 

Thus  ended  the  tragedy,  and  hope  and  joy  filled  the 
land.  Gates  had  been  successful ;  still  he  had  not  shown 
the  highest  qualities  of  a  commander,  for  he  had  fought 
both  of  these  battles  like  a  European  gentleman — in  his 
camp.  With  such  troops  as  ours  he  should  have  been 
in  the  field,  especially  where  so  many  obstructions  re 
quired  the  near  oversight  of  the  commander-in-chief. 
The  chieftain  whom  he  disgraced  really  gained  for  him 
the  battle  ;  but  he  did  not  look  on  it  in  that  light,  and 
became  inflated  beyond  measure,  thus  showing  himself 
to  be  radically  a  weak  man.  In  his  sudden  importance 
and  supreme  self-conceit,  he  never  deigned  to  let  Wash 
ington  know  of  his  victory,  much  less  report  to  him,  as 
comrnander-in-chief  of  the  army,  what  he  had  done. 

After  this,  Gates  entered  soul  and  heart  into  the 
conspiracy  which  had  been  set  on  foot  to  displace 

*  It  is  said  it  was  amusing  to  see  the  pet  wild  animals  which  the 
Hessian  soldiers  lugged  along  in  this  sad  march.  Here  one  tugged 
away  at  a  grizzly  bear,  another  led  a  tame  deer,  a  third  a  fox,  a  fourth 
carried  a  raccoon  under  his  arm, — presenting  a  most  comic  spectacle  to 
the  American  soldiers. 


280 


MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 


Washington,  and  put  him  at  the  head  of  the  army. 
The  faction  which  supported  his  views  in  Congress 
created  a  Board  of  War,  and  placed  him  at  the  head  of 
it.  He  then  began  to  enact  those  follies,  and  show  that 
disrespect  of  Washington  and  that  unbounded  vanity, 
which  make  us  despise  him  beyond  measure.  He 
planned  an  invasion  of  Canada,  and  prevailed  on  Con 
gress  to  adopt  it,  without  consulting  Washington  in  any 
particular.  Lafayette  was  appointed  to  command  the 
expedition,  under  the  expectation  that  the  honor  would 
bring  him  over  to  the  views  of  the  conspirators.  The 
infamous  Conway  was  made  second  in  command,  but 
Lafayette  stubbornly  refused  to  accept  him,  and  chose 
De  Kalb  in  his  place.  This  chagrined  Gates  deeply, 
but  another  act  of  Lafayette  mortified  him  still  more. 
Previous  to  his  starting  for  Albany  to  superintend  pre 
parations  for  the  projected  invasion,  the  marquis  visited 
him  at  Yorktown,  and  at  a  public  dinner  in  which  great 
conviviality  prevailed,  and  many  toasts  were  given, 
arose  and  said,  that  one  toast  had  been  omitted,  which 
he  would  propose  : — "  The  commander-in-chief  of  the 
American  armies."  It  was  received  coldly,  and  even 
the  besotted  Gates  could  see  that  Lafayette  was  not  to 
be  reckoned  on  in  carrying  out  his  mad  designs. 

The  expedition  was  abandoned,  and  probably  be 
cause  it  would  not  further  Gates's  ambitious  plans. 
While  at  Yorktown,  "  his  table  was  filled  with  plotting 
civilians,  discontented  officers,  and  favor-seeking  for 
eigners  ;  and  never  was  this  giddy  man  more  happy 
than  when  he  saw  assembled  around  him  a  little  court 
basking  under  the  sunshine  of  his  new  fortunes."*  But 
*  Vide  Life  of  Hamilton. 


IS     DISPATCHED     SOUTH.  281 

with  all  his  plottings  and  falsehoods  he  could  not  shake 
the  army ;  true  to  their  glorious  leader,  they  ex 
claimed,  "  No  Washington,  no  army." 

In  1779  Gates  was  stationed  at  Providence,  in  com 
mand  of  the  eastern  section  of  the  army,  but  was  en 
gaged  in  no  important  military  service  until  he  was 
placed  by  Congress  over  the  southern  army.  The  fall 
of  Charleston  had  opened  the  south  to  Cornwallis,  and 
he  was  fast  overrunning  the  whole  country.  Baron 
de  Kalb  had  been  sent  forward  from  the  main  army  to 
relieve  Lincoln,  but  before  he  could  reach  him  he  had 
been  compelled  to  surrender,  and  the  former  was  there 
fore  left  in  sole  command  of  the  forces  opposed  to 
Cornwallis.  To  retrieve  these  heavy  losses  Gates  had 
been  hastily  dispatched  south,  and  arrived  at  the 
camp  on  Deep  River  the  twenty-fifth  of  July.  He 
immediately  issued  his  proclamations,  and  called  on 
the  militia  to  rise  in  defence  of  their  homes.  His 
reputation  gained  at  Saratoga  kindled  the  expiring 
hopes  of  the  people,  and  soldiers  came  flocking  to 
him  from  every  quarter.  Assembling  his  troops, 
he  marched  towards  Camden,  where  Lord  Rawdon 
was  posted  with  the  British  army.  The  latter  im 
mediately  concentrated  his  forces  on  Lynch's  Creek, 
near  the  town,  and  took  a  strong  position,  while  he 
dispatched  a  letter  to*  Cornwallis  in  great  haste,  in 
forming  him  of  the  storm  that  was  about  to  burst  on 
his  head.  Gates,  hurrying  on,  would  neither  stop  for 
provisions  nor  to  let  his  army  rest.  For  five  or  six 
days  at  a  time  the  soldiers  were  without  meat,  bread, 
or  flour,  and  lived  entirely  on  green  ap'ples,  corn,  and 
whatever  vegetables  they  could  lay  hands  on. 

24* 


282  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

At  length  he  arrived  in  front  of  Rawdon's  position, 
where  his  haste  seemed  suddenly  to  leave  him,  for  he 
consumed  four  days  in  skirmishes  from  which  he  gained 
nothing.  Afraid  to  force  the  passage  of  the  creek  and 
attack  the  English  commander  in  his  quarters,  he 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  turn  of  fortune,  he 
scarce  knew  what.  In  the  meantime  Cornwallis  ar 
rived  in  camp,  and  Gates  saw  that  his  dilatoriness  had 
not  been  unproductive  to  the  enemy  if  it  had  been  to 
himself.  Attempting  neither  to  flank  his  adversary, 
and  thus  overwhelm  him  with  his  superior  force  or 
drive  him  into  a  less  favorable  position ;  nor  to  cross 
the  creek  higher  up  and  make  a  descent  on  Camden, 
which  would  have  insured  the  victory,  he  waited  four 
days  in  front  of  a  strong  position  till  his  enemy  could 
be  reinforced,  then  made  a  rash  attack.  There  was 
indeed,  at  last,  some  demonstrations  made  of  a  flank 
movement,  which  caused  Rawdon  hastily  to  retire  to 
Camden ;  but  Cornwallis  in  the  meantime  had  arrived. 
His  energy  and  skill  soon  changed  the  state  of  affairs 
— though  he  was  still  too  feeble  to  contend  with  the 
American  army  if  it  had  been  commanded  by  an  able 
general.  The  odds  were  indeed  against  him,  but  he 
knew  that  to  retreat  was  to  give  up  both  South  Carolina 
and  Georgia,  for  which  he  had  struggled  so  hard ;  and 
so  he  resolved  to  hazard  a  battle.  He  could  not  have 
had  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  conqueror  of  Burgoyne, 
or  he  would  not  have  risked  so  unequal  a  contest ;  for 
he  not  only  determined  to  hazard  an  engagement,  but 
also  to  advance  on  Gates,  posted  strongly  at  Rugely's 
Mills. 


COMMENCEMENT     OF     THE     BATTLE.  283 


BATTLE    OF    CAMDEN. 


At  length,  on  the  llth  of  August,  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  the  English  army  began  to  advance  in  two  col 
umns.  Not  knowing  this  plan  of  the  British  com 
mander,  Gates  had  resolved  also  to  move  against  the 
English,  and  at  the  same  hour  left  his  position,  and  in 
dead  silence  came  hurrying  on  through  the  gloom.  The 
muffled  tread  of  the  advancing  battalions,  the  stifled 
words  of  command,  and  the  low  rumbling  of  artillery 
wagons,  as  the  two  unsuspecting  armies  rapidly  ap 
proached  each  other,  were  the  only  sounds  that  accom 
panied  their  march.  They  thus  toiled  silently  on  for 
four  hours,  when  suddenly,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing,  the  advance  guard  of  the  British  found  themselves 
on  the  head  of  an  American  column.  The  dark  mass 
wound  backward  till  lost  in  the  gloom,  but  the  British 
boldly  advanced  to  the  attack.  The  midnight  was 
suddenly  illumined  by  flashes  of  musketry,  and  in  their 
transient  light  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  fields 
were  filled  with  marching  columns  and  squadrons  of 
cavalry.  Flash  followed  flash  in  quick  succession,  and. 
those  two  armies  looked  like  huge  black  monsters  in 
the  gloom  spitting  forth  fire  from  their  mouths  on  each 
other.  Suddenly,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  the  uproar 
ceased,  and  darkness  again  mantled  the  hosts,  and  si 
lence  rested  on  the  scene.  Both  generals,  unwilling  to 
hazard  a  nocturnal  combat,  had  resolved  to  wait  for 
daylight  to  uncover  their  respective  positions,  and  the 
troops  stood  to  their  arms  through  the  night. 

In  a  council  of  war  called  by  Gates,  the  brave  De 
Kalb  wisely  advised  a  retreat  to  their  position  at 


284  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

Rugely's  Mills,  and  there  await  the  attack  of  the  enemy. 
Gates  overruled  this  opinion,  and,  carried  away  by  some 
strange  infatuation,  resolved  to.  give  battle  in  his  pres 
ent  position,  though  hemmed  in  between  two  swamps, 
where  his  superiority  of  numbers  would  give  him  no 
advantage  in  flank  movements,  and  everything  must 
depend  on  the  firmness  of  the  opposing  columns.  The 
road  ran  between  these  two  marshes ;  and  Cornwallis, 
dividing  his  army  into  two  portions,  stretched  one  from 
the  road  to  the  swamp  on  the  right,  and  the  other  from 
the  road  to  the  swamp  on  the  left,  the  artillery  forming 
the  connecting  link.  Behind  each  of  these  masses 
stood  a  battalion  as  a  rear-guard,  while  Tarleton's  le 
gion  sat  on  their  horses  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  road 
to  take  advantage  of  circumstances. 

Gates  divided  his  forces  into  three  columns,  the  cen 
tre  one,  commanded  by  Caswell,  in  the  road,  and  the 
other  two,  led  by  Stevens  and  Gist,  on  either  side. 
The  continental  troops  of  Delaware  and  Maryland 
composed  the  reserve,  while  Armand's  cavalry  were 
placed  opposite  to  Tarleton's  legion.  Thus  the  two 
armies  stood  when  the  warm  August  morning  broke 
over  the  scene.  A  death-like  calmness  rested  on  the 
fields,  not  a  breath  of  air  was  abroad,  the  leaves  hung  mo 
tionless  on  their  stems,  and  a  summer  haze  veiled  the 
sky  and  gave  to  the  sun  a  blood-shot  appearance  as  it 
rolled  slowly  into  view.  The  Americans  looked  calmly 
on  the  dense  masses  of  scarlet  uniforms  before  them, 
and  would  doubtless  have  met  the  shock  firmly,  but  for 
the  downright  madness  of  their  general.  Not  exactly 
liking  his  order  of  battle,  he  endeavored  to  change  the 
positions  of  the  left  and  centre  columns.  Right  in  the 


THE     BATTLE.  285 

presence,  and  within  striking  distance  of  his  wary  foe, 
he  opened  his  columns  and  began  to  execute  a  manoeu 
vre  with  his  undisciplined  militia.  A  smile  passed 
over  the  face  of  Cornwallis  when  he  saw  it,  and  he  im 
mediately  ordered  the  right  division  to  charge.  Those 
undisciplined  troops  were  undulating  on  the  field  in 
their  slow  effort  to  close  up  their  ranks  again,  when 
the  artillery  opened  upon  them,  and  the  rapidly  ad 
vancing  column  poured  a  most  destructive  fire  into 
their  very  faces.  They  made  a  feeble  effort  to  rally, 
when  the  Virginians  broke  and  fled.  In  a  moment 
the  field  was  in  an  uproar — the  artillery  on  both  sides 
began  to  play  furiously,  while  from  swamp  to  swamp 
it  was  one  flash  and  peal  of  musketry  as  the  two  ar 
mies  advanced  on  each  other.  The  smoke  of  battle 
would  not  rise  in  the  dull  air,  but  settled  down  on  the 
field,  and  folded  heavily  in  the  contending  columns. 
The  separate  portions  of  the  armies  thus  became  hid 
from  each  other,  and  shouted  and  charged  through  the 
smoke,  ignorant  of  the  state  of  the  conflict  about  them. 
Amid  the  intervals  of  the  thunder  of  artillery,  and  over 
the  rattle  of  musketry,  strains  of  martial  music  strug 
gled  up  through  the  sulphurous  cloud,  and  all  was  con 
fusion  and  uncertainty.  But  these  two  columns,  as 
sailed  in  the  process  of  formation,  could  not  recover 
their  order,  and  rapidly  crumbled  away,  and  at  last 
began  to  stagger  back  in  a  broken  mass  over  the  field. 
Tarleton,  seizing  the  favorable  moment,  ordered  the 
charge  to  sound.  The  blast  of  those  bugles  sent  terror 
through  the  disordered  ranks — and  the  next  moment 
the  fierce  riders  were  among  them  trampling  down  the 
dead  and  dying,  and  sabering  the  fugitives  without 


286  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

mercy.     All  was  now  lost :   the  ruined  army  rolled 
backwards,  and  uncovered  the  reserve  of  continental 
troops  standing  firm  as  a  wall  of  iron  in  their  places. 
Letting  the  disordered  tide  of  battle  flow  past  them,  as 
the  rock  the  waters,  they  closed  sternly  on  the  advan 
cing  battalions.     De  Kalb,  the   brave,  the  noble  De 
Kalb,  towered  on  foot  at  their  head,  with  his  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand,  while  his  hoarse  shout  was  heard 
even  above  the  uproar  of  the  conflict.     Over  the  piles 
of  dead  bodies  that  obstructed  his  way — through  the  ter 
rible  fire  that  wasted  his  ranks,  he  led  his  gallant  band 
to  the  charge,  and  fell  in  such  desperate  valor  on  the 
enemy,  that  inch  by  inch  they  were  forced  back.     The 
British  rushed  on  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  mingling 
in  rapid  intermediate  vollies  ;  but  those  resolute  troops 
never  shook,  though  rapidly  crumbling  away  before 
the  overwhelming  fire  that  smote  them.     Again  and 
again  did  the  calm  stern  voice  of  De  Kalb  carry  them 
to   the   charge    with  terrible   impetuosity,  and   three 
times  in  succession  did  they  close  sternly  in  with  the 
bayonet.      But   the   whole   right   wing   of  the   Eng 
lish  now  leaving  the   pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  turned 
suddenly  upon  him  and  his  brave  continentals.     En 
veloped  in   fire   and  smoke,  fast  melting  away,  that 
heroic  band  could  not  save  the  battle,  but  they  could 
save   the    honor  of  the  flag  that  waved  over  them. 
Turning  furiously  on  those  fresh  battalions  that  crowd 
ed  upon  them,  they  cleared  a  terrible  path  for  them 
selves,   and    stood   a  blazing  citadel  on  the  lost  and 
bloody  field.     But  amid  their  thinned  ranks  Tarleton's 
cavalry  now  came  on  a  fierce  gallop,  and  De  Kalb  saw 
that  his  hour  had  come.     Shot  after  shot  had  struck  him, 


BRAVERY     OF     DE     KALB.  287 

and  the  blood  was  pouring  from  his  side  in  streams ; 
yet,  animated  by  that  spirit  which  has  made  the  hero 
in  every  age,  he  rallied  his  men  for  a  last  charge,  and 
led  them  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  on  the  dense  ranks. 
Striking  a  bayonet  from  his  breast,  and  laying  the  gren 
adier  that  held  it  dead  at  his  feet,  he  pressed  forward, 
and  in  the  very  act  of  cheering  on  his  men,  fell  with 
the  blood  gushing  from  eleven  wounds.  His  aids  im 
mediately  covered  him  with  their  bodies,  exclaiming, 
"  Save  the  Baron  de  Kalb,  save  the  Baron  de  Kalb  !" 

This  ended  the  fight,  for  that  noble  band,  disheart 
ened  at  the  fall  of  their  leader,  broke  and  fled.  De  Kalb 
was  taken  prisoner,  but  lived  only  a  short  time.  He 
spent  his  last  breath  in  dictating  a  letter  of  thanks  to 
his  brave  troops,  who  had  stood  so  nobly  by  him. 
While  this  stirring  scene  had  been  enacting  on  the 
field,  Gates  was  miles  away,  endeavoring  to  arrest  the 
fugitives — but  round  a  man  who  never  exposes  himself 
in  battle,  broken  soldiers  never  rally.  The  rout  was 
utter,  the  chase  continuing  for  twenty  miles,  and  the 
"  hero  of  Saratoga"  saw,  with  inexpressible  chagrin, 
his  laurels  wither  in  a  moment.  Lee,  when  he  met 
him  on  his  way  to  join  the  army,  said,  "  Beware,  your 
northern  laurels  will  turn  into  southern  willows :"  and 
his  words  had  proved  true. 

This  man,  who  had  thought  to  step  into  Washington's 
place,  was  speedily  recalled,  and  the  command  given  to 
Greene.  When  the  order  to  this  effect  reached  him,  he 
was  filled  with  the  deepest  mortification — he  walked 
the  room  in  great  agitation,  while  his  countenance  re 
vealed  the  emotions  that  struggled  within.  He  showed, 
however,  in  this  painful  position,  a  better  spirit  than 


288  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

could  be  expected  of  him  :  he  indulged  in  no  recrimina 
tion,  no  petty  revenge,  but  furnished  to  his  rival  all  the 
knowledge  and  aid  in  his  power.  Washington,  ever 
noble  and  magnanimous,  forgot,  in  his  disaster,  the  con 
ceit  and  rudeness  that  had  marked  his  prosperity,  and 
wrote  to  him  a  kind  letter,  assuring  him  of  his  con 
tinued  confidence,  and  condoling  with  him  on  the  loss 
of  a  son,  the  news  of  which,  just  then  received,  helped 
to  swell  the  load  of  sorrow  that  weighed  him  down. 

But  there  is  no  excuse  for  the  management  of  Gates 
in  this  campaign.  He  committed  blunder  on  blunder, 
and  seemed  to  be  in  a  desperate  hurry,  as  if  he  had 
only  to  see  his  enemy  in  order  to  capture  him.  His 
previous  success  had  intoxicated  him,  and  made  him, 
as  it  did  Marmont  in  Spain,  lose  his  head.  But  every 
one  commits  blunders,  and  mistakes  are  inevitable. 
These  are  never  thought  of  in  victory,  while  they  are 
carefully  discussed  and  pointed  out  in  defeat.  In  this 
way  Gates  has  been  accused  of  more  errors  than  he 
really  ought  to  be  held  accountable  for ;  and  even  the 
palpable  one  of  remaining  four  days  before  Rawdon, 
instead  of  marching  on  Camden,  may  have  its  ex 
cuses.  Refusing  to  retreat  to  a  strong  position,  when 
he  found  himself  hemmed  in  between  two  marshes, 
was  a  worse  error,  but  this  too  may  have  its  apologies, 
and  might,  under  certain  views  and  information,  be 
defended.  All  these  may  be  mistakes  in  judgment, 
arising  from  causes  we  cannot  fully  appreciate  ;  but 
he  committed  one  error  for  which  no  apology  can  be 
rendered — the  fatal  one  of  executing  a  difficult  manoeu 
vre — difficult,  at  least,  to  the  troops  he  commanded — 
just  when  the  battle  was  to  be  thrown  upon  him.  It 


CAUSE     r  F     HIS     DEFEAT.  289 

would  have  been  a  hazardous  experiment  with  veteran 
soldiers,  and  sanctioned  only  in  a  case  of  the  most  ur 
gent  necessity.  He  knew  what  was  the  discipline  of 
the  raw  recruits  under  him,  and  he  was  perfectly 
aware  of  the  confusion  they  would  be  thrown  in  by  the 
movement  he  attempted  to  make  ;  and  to  suppose  that 
a  vigilant  enemy,  drawn  up  in  order  of  battle,  within 
striking  distance  of  him,  would  not  take  advantage  of 
it,  argued  a  lack  of  common  sense  perfectly  unpardon 
able  in  a  commander.  Marmont  lost  Spain  to  Napo 
leon,  and  well  nigh  ruined  his  own  fame,  by  a  similar 
error,  though  not  half  so  gross.  He  had  out-manoeuvred 
Wellington,  and  opened  his  communications  with  the 
reinforcing  army,  so  that  the  English  commander  had 
no  other  resource  but  a  rapid  retreat.  In  his  eagerness 
to  cut  this  off,  he  executed  a  bad  manoeuvre  in  the  pre 
sence  of  the  enemy.  Wellington,  though  thinking  only 
of  retreat,  took  advantage  of  it,  and  won  a  signal  vic 
tory.  Yet  Marmont  had  veterans  under  his  command, 
subject  to  the  most  rigid  discipline ;  while  Gates  had 
raw  militia,  whom  he  had  no  right  thus  to  rob  of  their 
strength  and  confidence,  and  open  to  the  charge  of 
well-trained  soldiers.  The  militia  fled  shamefully ;  but 
it  is  not  an  easy  matter  for  untried  troops,  while  in  a 
state  of  disorder,  to  stand  firm  before  the  onset  of  those 
which  are  disciplined  and  steady. 

Gates's  command  was  afterwards  restored  to  him,  but 
not  till  1782,  so  that  this  ended  his  military  career.  After 
the  war  was  over  he  settled  on  his  old  estate  in  Berke 
ley  county,  Virginia.  From  thence,  in  1790,  he  removed 
to  New  York  and  was  elected  member  of  the  legislature. 
He  died  April  10th,  1806,  seventy-seven  years  of  age. 

VOL.  i.  25 


290  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 


HIS    CHARACTER. 

General  Gates  was  a  thorough  gentleman  in  nis  man 
ners,  and  a  good  scholar.  Possessed  of  a  handsome 
person,  and  elevated  to  the  highest  rank  in  the  army, 
he  needed  only  a  stronger  character  and  intellect  to 
have  finished  his  career  as  he  commenced  it.  He 
seemed,  however,  to  have  before  him  the  example  of 
those  European  generals  in  former  times,  who  fought 
battles  as  gracefully  as  they  would  dance  a  cotillion. 
The  impulse  of  the  brave  warrior  rushing  into  danger 
to  arrest  a  disaster,  or  by  his  example  carry  his  men 
where  they  dare  not  go  alone,  he  did  not  possess. 
The  bare  fact  that  he  never  stirred  from  his  camp 
during  the  two  bloody  battles  that  gave  him  his  fame, 
is  enough  to  condemn  him.  An  emperor  could  not 
have  acted  with  more  dignity,  or  set  a  greater  price  on 
his  life,  than  he  did  at  Saratoga.  This  would  hardly 
be  excusable  in  a  commander  on  an  open  field,  where 
his  observatory  commanded  the  whole  scene  of  action, 
much  less  where  none  of  it  was  in  view,  and  he  had  to 
depend  entirely  on  the  report  of  his  aids.  While  the 
bullets  where  whistling  round  Burgoyne  as  he  galloped 
over  the  field,  Gates  sat  quietly  in  his  camp,  prepared, 
not  to  restore  a  lost  battle  by  his  presence  and  per 
sonal  bravery,  but  to  order  a  decent  retreat.*  One 

*  During  the  hottest  of  the  battle.  Gates  was  in  camp,  discussing 
•with  Sir  Francis  Clark  the  merits  of  the  Revolution.  This  gentleman 
had  been  -wounded,  and  taken  prisoner,  and  was  lying  on  Gates's  bed, 
talking  with  him.  when  one  of  the  aids  of  the  latter  came  galloping 
from  the  field.  The  latter,  to  his  surprise,  found  his  general  very 
much  excited,  though  not  about  the  battle,  but  because  his  antagonist 


HIS     CHARACTER.  291 

can  never  think  of  him  with  patience  in  this  listless  at 
titude,  when  it  was  of  such  vital  importance  to  our 
success  that  the  militia  should  be  encouraged  and  sus 
tained  by  the  sight  of  their  officers.  He  had  none  of 
the  spirit  of  Arnold,  who  would  rather  die  a  thousand 
deaths  than  suffer  a  shameful  defeat,  nor  of  De  Kalb, 
who  believed  a  great  example  was  more  valuable  than 
his  life.  That  he  was  not  a  skilful  tactician  the  battle 
of  Camden  is  sufficient  testimony.  His  fame  rests  on 
the  capture  of  Burgoyne,  but  here  we  find  that  he  was 
not  on  the  field  in  either  battle.  The  first  was  fought 
entirely  by  Arnold's  division  and  at  his  urgent  request ; 
and  with  the  issue  of  it,  Gates  had  no  more  to  do  than 
one  of  his  aids.  The  second  was  directed  after  the 
first  few  minutes  chiefly  by  Arnold,  who  did  not  re 
ceive  a  single  order  the  whole  day,  while  the  last  bril 
liant  manoeuvre  that  gave  such  decisive  character  to 
the  conflict  was  his  entirely.  Arnold  gave  him  the 
victory  at  Saratoga,  yet  he  quarrelled  with  him  ;  and 
De  Kalb  saved  the  American  arms  from  utter  disgrace 
at  Camden,  yet  he  scorned  his  counsel,  and  seriously 
wounded  his  feelings.  Our  country  should  honor  her 
defenders,  but  no  examples  of  spurious  greatness  ought 
to  mislead  those  who  come  after. 

With  all  Gates's  good  breeding  he  was  often  wanting 
in  that  noble  spirit  which  belongs  to  a  true  man.  His 
reception  of  Burgoyne  was  gentlemanly  and  refined, 
but  his  neglect  to  report  his  actions  and  his  victory  to 
Washington,  mean  and  contemptible.  It  showed  not 

would  not  allow  the  force  of  his  argument.  Walking  out  of  the  room 
he  called  his  aid  after  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  had ."  ever  heard  so  im 
pudent  a  son  of  a  b — A." — Vide  Wilkinson's  Memoirs. 


292  MAJOR     GENERAL     GATES. 

only  a  weak  pride,  but  an  ignoble  spirit.    Puffed  up  by 
his  success,  and  considering  himself  already  comman- 
der-in-chief  of  the  American  army,  he  could  not  conde 
scend  to  give  an  account  of  his  actions  to  any  one  but 
Congress.      The  mild  rebuke  which  Washington  ad 
ministered  him  contrasts  beautifully  their  characters, 
and  shows  the  immeasurable  distance  between  them  as 
men.     His  neglect  of  the  brave  Morgan,  too,  because 
he  would  listen  to  no  proposals  to  overthrow  the  com- 
mander-in-chief — bluntly  declaring  he  would  serve  un 
der  no  one  but  Washington,  is  another  evidence  of  the 
ambitious  weak  man.    Even  he  and  his  favorite  Wilkin 
son  finally  quarrelled,  and  when  the  latter  challenged 
him  he  accepted  it,  and  then  burst  into  tears  when  they 
met  to  fight,  declaring  he  would  .as  soon  think  of  shoot 
ing  his  son.     This  sudden  burst  of  sentiment,  after  all 
the  preliminaries  had  been  gone  through  with,  and  they 
had  arrived  on  the  field,  some  will  be  so  uncharitable 
as  not  to  appreciate.     Gates  never  betrayed  his  coun 
try,  and  was  doubtless  very  much  shocked  at  Arnold's 
treason  ;  but  in  his  efforts  to  undermine  Washington  he 
laid  a  train  which,  if  it  had  exploded,  would  have  shiv 
ered  the  Union  into  fragments.     One,  selfish  and  re 
vengeful,  offers  to   surrender  a  strong  fortress  for   a 
bribe — the  other,  equally  selfish,  shakes  our  political 
fabric  to  its  foundations  to  gratify  a  mean  ambition. 
Both  were  doubtless  patriotic  at  first ;  but  both  fell 
through  ambition. 


VIII. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 

Wrong  Views  in  the  Country  respecting  Discipline — Steuben's  Rank 
in  Europe— Arrival  in  this  Country — Joins  the  Army  at  Valley 
Forge  and  is  appointed  Inspector  General — His  Mode  of  Discipline 
— Changes  he  introduced  into  the  Army — Effect  of  Discipline — 
Retires  to  his  Land  near  Utica — His  Death  and  Burial — His 
Character,  with  Personal  Anecdotes. 

THE  name  of  this  generous  foreigner  is  introduced 
here  not  for  the  battles  he  fought,  but  for  the  real  bene 
fit  he  conferred  on  the  country.  Though  a  warrior  of 
tried  ability,  and  capable  of  managing  any  army,  he 
unfortunately  was  unable  to  speak  our  language,  and 
hence  could  not  be  trusted  with  a  command  in  the  line  ; 
but  to  him,  and  almost  to  him  alone,  were  we  indebted 
for  that  discipline  and  order  which  finally  made  our 
troops  effective.  The  benefit  of  his  constant  drills  and 
instructions  to  the  officers  was  seen  in  a  few  months 
after  he  arrived — order  sprung  out  of  disorder,  and  in 
stead  of  a  confused  though  patriotic  throng,  we  had  the 
basis,  at  least,  of  a  well-disciplined  and  powerful  army. 
There  is  no  error  more  common  or  more  fatal  to  re 
publican  governments,  than  that  raw  recruits  are  as 
good  as  regular  troops.  The  wrong  impression  which 
the  country  received  on  this  subject  from  the  battle  of 

25* 


291 


MAJOR      GENERAL     STEUBEN. 


Bunker  Hill  was  soon  removed.  The  battle  of  Long 
Island  and  the  retreat  to  Harlaem,  and  still  later,  the 
battle  of  Brandywine,  showed  how  little  reliance  could 
be  placed  on  raw  militia  in  the  open  field,  when  opposed 
by  disciplined  soldiers.  To  fight  well  behind  ramparts, 
where  no  manoeuvres  are  to  be  executed  or  met,  and 
steady  courage  and  sharp-shooting  are  the  only  requi 
sites,  is  one  thing ;  but  to  march  into  the  open  field, 
where  more  or  less  evolutions  are  necessary,  in  order 
to  check  those  of  the  enemy,  is  quite  another.  The 
difficulty  was  not  that  our  troops  lacked  bravery,  for 
individually  they  were  full  of  courage ;  but  that  they 
became  disordered  even  from  their  own  motion,  and 
in  changing  their  form  or  position,  passed  from  the 
firm  array  of  soldiers  into  the  confusion  of  a  crowd  of 
men. 

Firm  order  not  only  awes  the  enemy,  but  imparts 
confidence  to  the  soldiers  themselves— while  on  the 
other  hand,  they  lose  all  heart  when  they  find  their 
own  ranks  unsettled  and  confused.  Enthusiasm  will 
frequently  compensate  for  want  of  discipline,  nay,  over 
come  it  in  a  single  battle  ;  but  it  will  not  keep  an  army 
together  through  long  campaigns,  fatiguing  marches, 
and  protracted  sufferings.  The  power  of  an  enthusi 
astic  people  is  immense,  and  men  frequently  point  to 
Switzerland  and  Vendee  as  evidences  that  determined 
men,  though  undisciplined,  are  always  equal  to  their 
own  defence.  But  this  depends  very  much  on  the  kind 
of  country  in  which  the  warfare  is  carried  on.  There 
is  no  doubt  but  that  any  army  which  had  attempted  to 
advance  into  our  interior,  would  have  shared  the  fate 
of  Burgoyne's.  A  land  filled  with  mountain  gorges,  and 


NEED     OF     DISCIPLINE.  295 

channelled  by  deep  rivers,  furnishes  a  thousand  battle 
grounds  where  undisciplined  men  can  make  a  success 
ful  stand.  Thus  the  lofty  passes  and  narrow  defiles  of 
Switzerland  render  the  march  of  an  immense  army 
into  it  fatal.  The  more  formidable  the  mass  the  larger 
the  mark  for  the  sharp-shooters,  and  the  greater  the 
destruction  when  rocks  and  trees  are  hurled  from  the 
precipices  upon  it.  Vendee  too  was  an  inland  country, 
furnishing  no  point  of  safety  on  which  an  invading 
army  could  fall  back  in  case  of  defeat,  and  no  great 
key,  the  occupation  of  which  would  secure  the  con 
quest  at  once — the  soil  had  to  be  conquered.  We 
could  have  done  equally  well  away  from  our  seaboard. 
Had  the  Alleghanies  and  hills  of  New  Hampshire  and 
Vermont  been  our  rallying  points,  and  their  dark 
gorges  and  fastnesses  the  places  where  we  made  our 
stand,  no  army  in  the  world  could  have  overcome  us. 
But  to  defend  our  sea-ports,  and  keep  possession  of  the 
open  and  level  country,  bulwarks  of  men  were  necessary 
— men  who  were  accustomed  to  all  the  subtle  move 
ments  of  war.  Physical  force  is  but  half,  even  when 
everything  depends  on  hard  blows.  Mind  and  skill 
are  needed,  and  the  discipline  which  puts  that  force 
under  their  control.  A  single  false  movement  is  often 
fatal  in  battle.  Washington  found  it  useless  to  drill 
his  men ;  for  the  moment  they  began  to  exhibit  the 
benefit  of  their  instructions  their  term  of  enlistment  ex 
pired,  and  they  shouldered  their  muskets  and  marched 
home.  Besides,  our  officers  were  almost  entirely  igno 
rant  of  military  tactics,  and  had  no  books  from  which 
to  instruct  themselves.  Hence  in  open  field  fight 
our  army  was  unwieldy,  unmanageable,  and  could 


296  MAJOR     GENERAL     STEUBEN. 

not  be  thrown  steadily,  or  with  half  the  force  it  really 
possessed,  on  the  enemy.  At  Almeida  Wellington 
could  swing  his  army  in  perfect  order,  as  on  a  pivot, 
across  a  plateau  four  miles  in  breadth,  while  artillery 
cavalry  and  infantry  thundered  upon  it  with  a  fierce 
ness  that  threatened  to  bear  away  the  very  plain  itself. 
The  French  infantry  at  Wagram  could  stand  for  a  whole 
hour  before  the  Austrian  batteries,  and  let  the  heavy 
balls  tear  through  their  ranks  without  returning  a  shot ; 
and  the  young  Guard  at  Krasnoi  could  march  into  a 
semicircle  of  Russian  cannon,  and  there  remain  till 
nearly  half  of  their  entire  number  sunk  to  the  earth,  in 
order  to  save  the  army.  Undisciplined  troops  never  do 
such  things.  '  To  prevent  an  enemy  from  penetrating 
into  the  interior  of  a  country,  where  every  ravine  and 
gorge  and  river  furnishes  a  rallying  place  for  brave 
men.  is  comparatively  an  easy  task  ;  but  to  protect  sea 
ports  without  ships  and  without  a  thoroughly  organized 
army,  is  altogether  another  affair ;  yet  this  was  what 
the  nation  expected  of  Washington. 

The  state  of  our  army  the  second  year  after  the  war 
commenced,  shows  the  result  of  this  reliance  on  mere 
enthusiasm.  A  few  thousand  of  half-naked  men  at  Val 
ley  Forge  constituted  our  main  force,  and  but  for  the 
discipline  and  oversight  of  Steuben,  and  other  foreign 
officers,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  the  next  two  years 
would  have  been. 

It  is  very  singular  that  Steuben  ever  consented  to 
corne  to  this  country.  Aid-de-camp  to  the  King  of 
Prussia — having  learned  the  art  of  war  under  the  re 
nowned  Frederick,  he  finally  resigned  his  place,  and 
was  presented  with  the  canonry  of  the  Cathedral  of 


HIS     EARLY     LIFE.  297 

Havelburg,  and  a  salary  of  twelve  hundred  florins. 
Returning  to  his  estate  at  Wilheim,  between  Baden 
and  Wirtemburg,  he  was  there  made  grand-marshal 
of  the  court  of  the  Prince  of  Hohenzollern-Hechingen, 
with  an  additional  salary  of  twelve  hundred  florins. 
He  was  also  appointed  knight  of  the  order  of  Fidelity, 
by  the  Prince  Margrave  of  Baden,  who  soon  after 
made  him  chief  of  all  his  troops,  with  emoluments 
amounting  to  some  two  thousand  florins  more.  He 
had  received  before  brilliant  offers  from  the  King  of 
Sardinia,  to  enter  his  service,  and  also  was  sought  by 
the  Emperor  of  Austria.  With  a  salary  of  nearly  three 
thousand  dollars,  the  baron  was  well  settled,  and  on  that 
sum  could  live  like  a  prince ;  and  yet  he  resigned  it  all 
and  came  to  this  country  a  soldier  of  fortune.  Not  an  ex 
ile — not  a  man  like  Pulaski,  or  Kosciusko,  who  suffered 
from  oppression  at  home — but  high  in  honor  and  rank, 
he  hastened  to  share  our  struggles  and  our  sufferings. 

At  the  urgent  request  of  some  English  noblemen, 
who  had  been  passing  some  time  with  him  in  Germany, 
he,  in  1777,  set  out  to  visit  England,  stopping  on  his 
way  at  Paris.  Here  Count  St.  Germain,  then  French 
minister  of  war,  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  go  to 
America  and  join  the  army.  The  wary  French  minis 
ter  knew  that  our  great  weakness  lay  in  our  want  of 
discipline  and  ignorance  of  military  tactics ;  and  fully 
resolved  on  depriving  England  of  her  colonies,  he 
wished  to  get  experienced  officers  among  us.  He 
knew  also  there  was  no  one  better  fitted  to  render  us 
aid  in  this  department  than  Steuben,  and  he  therefore 
held  out  flattering  promises  to  him.  The  latter,  how 
ever,  spoke  of  his  age,  his  lucrative  situation,  and  the 


298  MAJOR     GENERAL     STEUBEN. 

risk  he  ran  in  throwing  it  away  in  an  uncertain  strug 
gle,  and  also  of  his  ignorance  of  the  English  language. 
Still  he  gave  the  subject  serious  consideration  enough 
to  see  the  American  envoys,  Dr.  Franklin  and  Silas 
Deane,  then  in  Paris.  They  were  anxious  to  secure 
his  services,  but  could  make  no  offer  of  funds  or  posi 
tion.  This  decided  him,  and  he  returned  home.  But 
on  reaching  Rastadt,  he  found  a  letter  from  St.  Ger 
main,  informing  him  that  a  vessel  was  about  to  sail  for 
America,  and  urging  him  to  return  and  embark  in  it — 
adding  that  a  satisfactory  arrangement  should  be  made. 
He  did  so,  and  relying  entirely  on  the  promises  of  the 
French  Court  for  remuneration,  and  fortified  with  let 
ters  of  introduction  from  our  envoys  to  Congress  and 
Washington,  set  sail  and  at  length  on  the  1st  of  Decem 
ber,  1777,  arrived  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire. 

Congress  received  him  with  every  mark  of  distinc 
tion,  and  appointed  a  committee  to  confer  with  him.  He 
proposed,  of  his  own  accord,  to  enter  the  army  as  a 
volunteer  ;  and  if  his  services  were  not  satisfactory,  or 
if  the  United  States  should  not  succeed  in  obtaining 
their  independence,  he  was  to  receive  nothing.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  they  were  successful,  and  he  was  retained 
in  the  service,  he  expected  that  the  money  he  was 
compelled  to  lose  in  order  to  take  up  arms  in  their 
behalf,  would  be  refunded,  and  a  fair  compensation 
given  him.  These  certainly  very  generous  terms  Con 
gress  accepted,  and  forthwith  the  baron  departed  for 
Valley  Forge.  A  more  sorry  introduction  to  our  army 
for  one  who  had  served  in  Europe,  could  not  well  be 
conceived.  He  had  found  our  cities  in  possession  of  a 
powerful  enemy,  and  when  he  came  to  look  for  the 


ENTERS     ON     HIS     WORK.  299 

force  that  was  to  retake  them,  he  saw  only  a  few  thou 
sand  famished,  half-naked  men,  looking  more  like  beg 
gars  than  soldiers — cooped  up  in  miserable  log  huts, 
dragging  out  the  desolate  winter  amid  the  straw.     As 
the  doors  of  these  hovels  opened,  he  beheld  men  desti 
tute  of  clothing,  wrapping  themselves  up  in  blankets, 
and    muttering   complaints    against   Congress,   which 
could  treat  them  with  such  injustice  and  inhumanity. 
He  was  astonished;  and  declared  that  no  European 
army  could  be  kept  together,  under  such  sufferings. 
All  discipline  was  gone,  and  the  troops  were  no  better 
than   a   ragged  horde,  with   scarcely  the   energy   to 
struggle  for  self-preservation.     There  was  hardly  any 
cavalry,  but  slender  artillery,  while  the  guns  and  ac 
coutrements — a  large  portion  of  them — were  unfit  for 
use.     Our  army  had  never  before  been  in  such  a  state, 
and  a  more  unpropitious  time  for   Steuben   to  enter 
on  his  work  could  not  have  been  selected.     Nothing 
daunted,  however,  and  with  all  the  sympathies  of  his 
noble  nature  roused  in  our  behalf,  he  began,  as  soon  as 
spring  opened,  to  instruct  both  officers  and  men.     His 
ignorance  of  our  language  crippled  him  at  first  very 
much  ;  while  the   awkwardness  of  our  militia,  who, 
gathered  as  they  were  from  every  quarter,  scarcely 
knew  the  manual  exercise,  irritated  him  beyond  mea 
sure.     They  could  not  execute  the  simplest  manoeuvre 
correctly,  and  Steuben,  who  was  a  choleric  man,  though 
possessed  of  a  soul  full  of  generosity  and  the  kindliest 
feelings  of  human  nature,  would  swear  and  curse  ter 
ribly  at  their  mistakes,  and  when  he  had  exhausted  all 
the  epithets  of  which  he  was  master,  would  call  on  his 
aid  and  ask  him  to  curse  in  his  stead.     Still  the  soldiers 


300         MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 

loved  him,  for  he  was  mindful  of  their  sufferings,  and 
often  his  manly  form  was  seen  stooping  through  the 
doors  of  their  hovels,  to  minister  to  their  wants  and 
relieve  their  distresses. 

It  was  his  practice  to  rise  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  dress  his  hair,  and  smoke,  and  take  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  'at  sunrise  be  in  the  saddle.  By  that 
time  also,  if  it  was  a  pleasant  day,  he  had  the  men 
marching  to  the  field  for  their  morning  drill.  First  he 
would  place  them  in  line,  then  pass  along  in  front,  care 
fully  examining  their  guns  and  accoutrements,  and  in 
quiring  into  the  conduct  of  the  subordinate  officers. 
The  fruit  of  his  labor  soon  appeared  in  the  improved 
condition  of  the  men — and  so  impressed  was  Washing 
ton  with  the  value  of  his  services,  that  he  wrote  to 
Congress,  requesting  a  permanent  appointment  for  him. 
He  was  in  consequence  made  inspector-general,  with 
the  rank  of  major-general.  This  branch  of  the  ser 
vice  now  received  the  attention  it  deserved,  and  sub- 
inspectors  were  appointed  throughout  the  army ;  and 
discipline,  before  irregular,  or  practised  only  under 
particular  leaders,  was  introduced  into  every  portion. 
All  the  arrangements,  even  to  the  minutest,  were 
planned  and  perfected  by  Steuben,  and  the  vast  ma 
chinery  of  an  army  began  to  move  in  harmony  and  order. 
His  labors  in  this  department  were  incessant.  He  had 
one  company  which  he  drilled  to  the  highest  point  of 
discipline,  as  a  model  by  which  to  instruct  the  others. 
The  result  of  all  this  was  seen  in  the  very  next  cam 
paign,  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth.  Washington  there 
rallied  his  men  while  in  full  retreat,  and  brought  them 
into  action  under  the  very  blaze  of  the  enemy's  guns. 


EFFECT     OF     HIS     DISCIPLINE.  301 

They  wheeled  like  veteran  troops  into  their  places,  and 
then  moved  steadily  on  the  foe.  Steuben,  during  the 
action,  was  employed  in  reconnoitering  the  enemy  and 
in  forming  tne  troops,  and  so  accustomed  had  the  sol 
diers  oecome  to  his  orders,  that  they  obeyed  them  in 
the  very  heat  of  the  engagement,  as  accurately  as  they 
would  have  done  on  drill.  Hamilton,  who  had  often 
had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  our  militia  manoeuvre  on 
the  battle-field,  was  struck  with  the  change,  and  was 
afterwards  heard  to  say,  that  he  never  before  had  any 
conception  of  the  value  of  military  discipline.  The 
taking  of  Stony  Point  and  Paulus  Hook,  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet,  without  firing  a  single  shot,  pleased  Steu 
ben  amazingly,  and  he  said,  "  We  are  beginning  to 
walk." 

At  Monmouth,  while  reconnoitering,  he  came  very 
near  being  taken  prisoner  ;  and  the  report  he  made 
to  Washington,  of  Lee's  retreat,  provoked  the  lat 
ter  into  such  harsh  expressions  against  him,  that  the 
old  veteran  promptly  called  him  to  account  for  them, 
and  compelled  him  to  withdraw  the  offensive  language. 

He  now  wished  to  take  command  in  the  line,  and 
claim  his  rank  as  major-general,  but  our  officers  made 
such  a  clamor  the  moment  a  foreigner  was  promoted 
over  them,  that  Washington  dare  not  gratify  him,  and 
the  Baron,  seeing  the  embarrassing  position  in  which 
the  commander-in-chief  was  placed,  had  the  generosity 
not  to  press  his  request. 

In  the  fall  of  1778,  he  was  engaged  in  writing  a  sort 
of  manual  for  the  army,  containing  the  rules  of  discipline 
and  inspection.  He  undertook  it  at  the  request  of 
Washington  and  the  Board  of  War,  and  having  no 


302  MAJOR     GENERAL     ST RUBEN. 

work  from  which  to  compile  it,  was  compelled  to  rely 
entirely  on  his  own  knowledge  and  remembrance  of 
the  Prussian  system.  Being  comparatively  ignorant 
of  the  English  language,  he  wrote  it  first  in  French, 
and  afterwards  had  it  translated.  This,  though  a  small 
work,  caused  him  much  annoyance,  especially  in  getting 
it  through  the  press.  It  was  adopted  by  Congress, 
approved  by  Washington,  and  became  the  standard, 
indeed  the  only  work  on  discipline  in  the  army,  and 
continued  to  be  so  till  the  close  of  the  war  ;  and 
even  after  that,  was  selected  by  several  of  the  states, 
as  the  guide  for  the  discipline  of  the  militia.  Steuben 
had  the  good  sense  to  perceive  that  our  people  were  not 
in  a  state  to  receive  benefit  from  all  the  minutiag  and  de 
tail  of  the  European  system  ;  and  hence  rejected  many 
things  he  himself  had  been  accustomed  to  practise. 

In  August,  the  next  year,  he  was  sent  to  Providence, 
to  introduce  among  the  troops  under  Gates  the  rules 
which  had  been  adopted  by  the  main  army,  and  from 
thence  went  to  Boston  to  conduct  the  French  minister, 
Chevalier  de  la  Luzerne,  to  head-quarters.  The  Feb 
ruary  of  1780  he  spent  in  Philadelphia,  to  aid  the 
Board  of  War  in  putting  the  army  in  the  best  state  for 
the  approaching  campaign.  His  accurate  and  exten 
sive  knowledge  of  our  forces,  the  means  in  their 
power,  and  their  state  of  discipline,  were  of  invaluable 
service.  He  then  went  to  West  Point,  to  give  his 
counsel  respecting  the  best  means  of  defending  the 
fortress  against  the  threatened  attack  of  the  British. 
Here  he  often  reviewed  the  troops,  and  the  French 
officers,  who  frequently  visited  him,  were  surprised  at 
the  perfection  of  discipline  he  had  secured  in  so  short 


COMMANDS     IN     THE     SOUTH.  303 

a  time.  General  Montmorency  was  especially  struck 
at  the  silence  with  which  the  troops  performed  all  their 
evolutions,  and  remarked  upon  it,  saying  he  was  sur 
prised  to  hear  so  little  noise.  "  Noise  /"  exclaimed  the 
Baron  ;  "  I  do  not  know  where  the  noise  should  come 
from,  when  even  my  brigadiers  dare  not  open  their 
mouths  but  to  repeat  my  orders."  At  another  'time, 
one  of  them  was  mentioning  some  difficult  evolu 
tions  performed  by  the  Prussians,  in  Silesia,  and  added, 
that  they  could  not  yet  be  expected  from  Ameri 
cans.  Steuben  replied,  that  he  would  save  the  gen 
tlemen  present  the  trouble  of  going  to  Silesia  to  wit 
ness  them,  for  he  would  have  them  gone  through  with 
the  next  week,  at  Verplanck's  Point ;  and  true  enough, 
at  the  appointed  time  they  saw,  to  their  amazement, 
those  very  evolutions,  which  they  deemed  so  intricate, 
performed  with  the  utmost  precision.  The  Baron  was 
proud  of  his  men,  for  they  improved  rapidly  under  his 
instructions  ;  and  scarcely  a  review  passed  in  which  he 
did  not  distribute  rewards  to  some  of  the  soldiers,  who 
had  shown  uncommon  quickness  in  mastering  their 
lessons.  In  1780,  he  was  selected  as  one  of  those  who 
were  to  try  Andre — and  possessing  the  soul  of  honor 
himself,  had  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  sentence  of 
death  on  that  unfortunate  officer. 

After  the  rout  of  Gates  at  Camden,  he  was  sent 
with  Greene  to  defend  the  south.  The  latter,  passing 
over  into  North  Carolina  to  measure  his  strength  with 
Cornwallis,  left  him  to  command  in  Virginia.  The 
Baron  now  unexpectedly  found  himself  acting  in  the 
capacity  of  major-general,  but  as  he  was  compelled  to 
forward  all  the  troops  he  could  raise  to  Greene,  he 


304         MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 

was  scarce  ever  in  command  even  of  a  single  regiment. 
His  duty  was  an  odious  one,  for,  besides  the  harass 
ing  business  of  raising  recruits,  he  was  exposed  to  the 
complaints  and  clamors  of  the  people,  who  no  sooner 
saw  an  army  furnished,  than  it  disappeared  over  the 
borders  to  protect  a  sister  state.  Steuben,  who  was  not 
remarkable  for  the  virtues  of  forbearance  and  patience, 
often  spoke  out  his  sentiments  rather  bluntly,  even  to 
the  authorities  of  the  state  ;  but  Jefferson,  who  knew 
and  appreciated  him,  bore  all  in  good  part. 

In  the  meantime,  Arnold's  sudden  irruption  into  the 
state  excited  the  greatest  alarm,  and  all  eyes  were 
directed  to  Steuben  for  relief.  But  he  had  only  a 
hundred  and  fifty  men  under  his  control,  and  could  do 
nothing.  It  chafed  him  dreadfully  to  find  himself  thus 
fettered  and  crippled,  while  the  traitor,  whom  he 
abhorred,  marched  unmolested  through  the  country. 
When  Arnold  sent  a  flag  to  him,  offering  not  to  burn 
Richmond,  if  he  would  allow  the  vessels  to  ascend 
the  river  without  molestation,  and  carry  off  the  to 
bacco,  the  old  soldier  gave  an  indignant  refusal ;  and 
so  the  former,  having  set  fire  to  the  public  buildings, 
and  plundered  the  private  ones,  retreated.  Steuben 
immediately  collected  what  force  he  could,  and  fol 
lowed  after — making  a  demonstration  wherever  there 
was  the  slightest  chance  of  even  partial  success.  He 
felt  the  successful  invasion  as  keenly  as  if  it  had  been 
a  personal  insult,  and  strained  every  nerve  to  fetch 
his  enemy  a  blow.  Like  Ney  in  the  retreat  from 
Moscow,  he  descended  to  the  duties  of  the  commonest 
soldier,  and  did  all  that  could  be  done  by  any  man 
with  his  means. 


PURSUES     ARNOLD.  305 

At  length  the  four  thousand  milita  voted  by  the  state 
were  raised,  but  before  they  could  be  brought  into  the 
field  Arnold  was  safe  in  Portsmouth ;  and  so,  three- 
quarters  of  them,  for  the  sake  of  economy,  were  dis 
patched  again  to  their  homes.  With  the  remainder 
Steuben  closed  around  Portsmouth,  hoping  for  a  favor 
able  opportunity  to  harass  the  enemy.  While  here, 
he  and  Jefferson  concerted  a  plan  to  get  possession  of 
Arnold,  but  the  constant  watchfulness  of  the  latter 
frustrated  it. 

Another  plan  was  laid,  however,  which  promised 
greater  success,  and  which  would  not  only  have  de 
stroyed  Arnold,  but  his  entire  army.  A  portion  of  the 
French  fleet  was  dispatched  to  the  Chesapeake  to  hem 
him  in  seaward,  while  Lafayette  was  sent  with  a  divi 
sion  of  the  army  to  surround  him  by  land.  His  orders 
were  positive,  not  to  grant  the  traitor  any  terms  which 
should  secure  him  from  the  punishment  he  deserved. 
He  reached  his  destination,  and  joined  Steuben ;  but 
while  they  were  looking  anxiously  for  the  arrival  of 
the  vessels  with  which  they  were  to  co-operate,  an 
English  fleet  came  sailing  up  the  bay,  and  thus  released 
Arnold  from  a  position  from  which  it  would  have 
tasked  even  his  extraordinary  genius  to  extricate  him 
self.  With  a  heavy  heart  Lafayette  turned  his  foot 
steps  north,  and  Steuben  was  again  left  alone.  In 
April,  however,  a  new  invasion  of  the  state,  under 
General  Philips,  with  twenty-five  hundred  men,  being 
planned,  Lafayette  was  ordered  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  save  Rich  nond.  While  yet  on  his  way,  the  British 
had  ascended  as  far  as  Petersburg,  where  Steuben, 
with  only  a  thousand  militia,  defended  himself  so 
26* 


306         MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN 

bravely,  that  the  enemy  advanced  only  one  mile  in  two 
hours.  With  twenty-three  hundred  regular  troops 
against  him,  he  still  contested  the  ground  with  such 
stubbornness,  that  he  retarded  their  progress,  and  killed 
and  wounded  sixty  of  their  soldiers.  By  forced 
marches  Lafayette  succeeded  in  reaching  Richmond 
and  saving  the  place. 

Soon  after  Cornwallis  entered  Virginia  and  effected 
a  junction  with  Arnold,  who,  on  the  death  of  Gen. 
Phillips,  had  succeeded  to  the  command.  Washington 
hearing  of  it,  -  dispatched  Wayne  with  reinforcements, 
who,  with  Lafayette  and  Steuben,  pressed  Cornwallis 
so  vigorously  that  he  was  compelled  to  intrench  himself 
at  Yorktown.  In  the  siege  that  followed  by  Washing 
ton,  the  Baron  was  gratified  by  receiving  a  place  in  the 
line,  and  did  good  service.  He  was  in  the  trenches 
when  the  proposition  to  surrender  was  under  discus 
sion,  and  at  the  relieving  hour  Lafayette  came  up  with 
his  division ;  but  the  former  stubbornly  refused  to  be 
relieved,  saying  that  European  etiquette  required  that 
the  officer  who  receives  the  overtures  should  keep  his 
post  till  the  capitulation  is  either  signed  or  broken. 
During  the  siege  a  shell  fell  near  him,  when  he  sud 
denly  threw  himself  in  the  trench  to  escape  the  ex 
plosion.  He  had  scarcely  struck  the  bottom  before 
Wayne,  leaping  from  the  same  danger,  fell  upon  him. 
The  Baron,  looking  up  very  coolly,  remarked  that  he 
was  an  excellent  officer,  for  he  covered  the  retreat  of 
his  general  admirably. 

It  is  difficult  to  sum  up  the  full  value  of  Steuben's 
labors,  but  his  arrival  among  us  formed  one  of  the 
epochs  of  our  Revolution.  The  discipline  he  intro- 


INJUSTICE     OF     CONGRESS.  307 

duced  wrought  such  wonders  at  Monmouth,  and  made 
such  veterans  of-  those  who  stormed  Stony  Point,  that 
the  eyes  of  government  and  of  the  officers  were 
opened  at  once,  and  a  complete  revolution  was  effected 
in  the  army.  From  that  time  on  our  regulars  were 
never  beaten  in  a  fair  fight.  At  Camden,  where  the 
militia  fled  almost  at  the  first  fire,  how  bravely  the 
continentals  met  the  whole  shock  of  the  battle,  and 
saved  the  honor  of  our  flag  on  that  disastrous  field. 
Greene  in  his  southern  campaign  relied  entirely  on  the 
regulars.  At  Guilford  a  single  regiment  broke  two  regi 
ments,  each  larger  than  itself,  to  pieces,  without  stop 
ping  to  breathe.  At  Eutaw  Springs,  although  the 
militia  fought  nobly,  the  finishing  blow  was  given  by 
the  continentals,  who  swept  the  field  with  the  bayonet, 
and,  to  the  utter  amazement  of  the  English  troops,  beat 
them  with  their  favorite  weapon. 

Just  after  the  close  of  the  war,  Steuben  was  sent  to 
Canada,  to  demand  of  the  commander  of  that  prov 
ince  the  surrender  of  the  posts  on  the  frontier.  Not 
succeeding  in  his  mission,  he  returned  to  head-quarters, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  army  was  disbanded.  Wash 
ington,  on  the  day  he  resigned  his  commission  to 
Congress,  wrote  him  a  letter,  expressing  the  high 
esteem  and  affection  he  bore  him.  Failing  to  obtain 
the  office  of  Secretary  of  War,  he  retired  to  private 
life,  and  for  seven  years  endeavored  in  vain  to  prevail 
on  Congress  to  remunerate  him  for  his  services.  At 
length,  through  the  instrumentality  of  Hamilton  and 
Washington,  he  obtained  a  salary  of  twenty-five  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year — only  half  of  that  which  he  had  sur 
rendered  fourteen  years  before  to  risk  all  in  our  ser- 


308 


MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 


vice.  How  Congress  could  thus  coolly  violate  its  own 
contract,  the  witnesses  to  which  were  still  living,  and 
had  given  in  their  testimony,  is  not  easily  reconciled 
with  justice  or  national  integrity.  Steuben,  however, 
had  to  be  satisfied  with  it ;  though  some  of  the  states 
generously  made  him  grants  of  land  as  testimonies  of  the 
high  value  they  placed  upon  his  services.  Virginia  and 
New  Jersey  gave  him  small  tracts,  while  the  New  York 
Assembly  voted  him  a  whole  township,  near  Utica. 

Here  the  old  aide-de-camp  of  Frederick  having  built 
himself  a  log-house,   and  cleared  off  sixty  acres  of 
land,  sat  down  for  the  remainder  of  his  life."     With  his 
trusty  servants,  and  some  few  friends  who  still  clung 
to   him   with    romantic   attachment,   around    him,   he 
watched  the  current  of  his  years  drift  peacefully  away, 
without  a  sigh  for  the  courtly  splendors  he  had  left  be 
hind  him  in  the  old  world.     Notwithstanding  the  injus 
tice  with  which  he  had  been  treated,  he  never  seemed 
inclined  to  leave  his  adopted  country.     Its  free  institu 
tions  suited  well  his  bold  and  independent  spirit,  and 
he  loved  it  like  a  father  to  the  last.    His  life  was  passed 
in  acts  of  generosity,  and  beloved  by  all,  he  was  enjoy 
ing  a  vigorous  old  age,  when,  on  the  25th  of  Novem 
ber,  1797,  he  was  suddenly  struck  with  paralysis,  and 
lived  but  three  days  after.     He  directed  just  before  his 
death,  that  he  should  be  buried  in  a  forest  near  his 
house,  in  his   military  cloak,  with  the  star  of  honor, 
which  he  always  wore,  placed  on  his  breast.      His 
weeping  servants,  and  a  few  rustic  neighbors,  formed 
the  procession  that  bore  him  to  his  solitary  place  of 
burial ;  and  there  in  the  still  woods,  with  his  martial 
cloak  around  him,  and  the  star  flashing  on  his  breast, 


HIS     CHARACTER.  309 

they  laid  the  old  warrior  down.  His  stormy  career 
was  over,  and  he  who  had  passed  his  life  on  the  battle 
field,  had  not  a  flag  to  droop  over  his  hearse,  or  a  sol 
dier  to  discharge  his  farewell  shot  above  his  ,  grave. 
He  was  left  alone  in  the  forest,  with  the  tall  stems  of 
the  trees  standing  like  sentinels  about  him,  and  the 
wind  sighing  through  their  tops  his  only  dirge. 

HIS    CHARACTER,    WITH    PERSONAL    ANECDOTES. 

Steuben  was  eccentric  in  his  habits,  frank  blunt  and 
irritable,  and  always  expressed  his  sentiments  without 
regard  to  friend  or  foe.  Having  spent  his  life  in  camp, 
he  was  frequently  rough  in  his  manners,  and  when  ex 
cited,  rash  as  a  storm.  Still,  the  soldiers  and  officers 
loved  him,  for  a  generous  act  would  always  repay  a 
sudden  wrong,  and  under  that  stern  military  exterior, 
beat  as  kind  a  heart  as  ever  dwelt  in  a  human  bosom. 
He  was  prodigal  to  a  fault,  and  an  appeal  to  his  sym 
pathies  he  never  could  resist — consequently,  as  objects 
of  charity  were  plentiful  enough  during  our  Revo 
lution,  he  was  never  long  in  possession  of  money. 
Whenever  he  had  anything  to  eat,  his  table  was 
crowded  with  officers,  and  often  with  those  of  inferior 
rank.  Once,  in  directing  some  of  the  latter  class  to  be 
invited,  he  said,  "  Poor  fellows,  they  have  field-officers' 
stomachs,  without  their  pay  or  rations."  On  one  occa 
sion,  he  sold  a  part  of  his  camp  equipage  in  order  to 
give  a  dinner  to  some  French  officers,  at  whose  table 
he  had  often  been  a  guest.  "  I  can  stand  it  no  longer," 
said  he  in  his  blunt  manner,  "  I  will  give  one  grand 
dinner  to  our  allies,  should  I  eat  soup  with  a  wooden 


310         MAJOR  GENERAL  STEUBEN. 

spoon  forever  after."  After  the  surrender  of  York 
town,  he  sold  his  horse  to  be  able  to  give  a  dinner  to 
the  British  officers.  Every  major-general  in  the  arm) 
had  extended  this  courtesy  but  him,  and  distressed  a< 
the  reflection  this  neglect  cast  upon  his  hospitality,  h< 
parted  with  his  horse  in  order  to  raise  the  funds  he 
needed.  His  watch  had  been  pawned  before  undei 
some  generous  impulse,  and  as  he  could  not  borrow 
the  money,  this  was  his  last  resort.  When  the  army 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving  Virginia,  he  went  to 
Major  North,  who  was  lying  sick  with  a  fever,  and 
told  him  that  he  was  to  be  left  behind ;  "  but,"  said  he, 
"  the  instant  you  are  able,  leave  this  unhealthy  place ; 
I  have  left  my  sulky  for  you,  and  here  (handing  him  a 
piece  of  gold)  is  half  of  all  I  possess  in  the  world.  God 
bless  you,  I  can  say  no  more."  Of  the  strictest  integ 
rity  and  honor  himself,  he  scorned  meanness  or  treach 
ery  in  others,  and  hence  never  could  hear  Arnold  men 
tioned  without  an  expression  of  indignation.  Once  in 
reviewing  a  regiment,  he  heard  the  name  of  Benedict 
Arnold  called  in  the  muster  roll.  He  immediately 
ordered  the  private  bearing  this  detested  cognomen  to 
advance  out  of  the  line.  He  was  a  fine-looking  fellow 
— every  inch  a  soldier — and  the  Baron,  after  surveying 
him  a  moment,  said,  "  Change  your  name,  brother  sol 
dier  ;  you  are  too  respectable  to  bear  the  name  of  a 
traitor."  "  What  name  shall  I  take,  general  ?"  inquired 
the  young  man.  '*  Take  any  other ;  mine  is  at  your 
service."  He  accepted  it,  and  immediately  had  his 
name  enrolled  Frederick  William  Steuben.  The  Baron 
settled  upon  him  in  return  a  pension  of  five  dollars  a 
month,  and  afterwards  gave  him  a  tract  of  land. 


PERSONAL     ANECDOTES.  311 

With  all  his  strict  notions  of  discipline  and  subordi 
nation,  he  was  prompt  to  redress  the  slightest  wrong 
done  to  the  meanest  soldier.  Once  at  a  review  near 
Morristown,  he  ordered  a  Lieutenant  Gibbons  to  be  ar 
rested  on  the  spot  for  a  supposed  error,  and  sent  to  the 
rear.  The  latter  was,  however,  innocent,  and  felt  the 
disgrace  keenly.  .  The  colonel  of  the  regiment  saw  that 
he  had  been  wronged,  and  waiting  till  the  baron's 
wrath  had  subsided,  advanced  and  told  him  that  the 
young  officer  was  not  in  fault,  and  was  suffering  keenly 
under  the  mortification  inflicted  upon  him.  "  Ask 
Lieutenant  Gibbons  to  come  to  the  front,  colonel,"  said 
the  old  veteran.  He  was  brought  forward,  when 
Steuben  said  aloud  before  the  whole  regiment,  "  Sir, 
the  fault  which  was  made  by  throwing  the  line  into 
confusion,  might  have  been  fatal  in  the  presence  of  an 
enemy.  I  arrested  you  as  its  supposed  author ;  but  I 
have  reason  to  believe  I  was  mistaken,  and  that  you 
were  blameless.  I  ask  your  pardon  ;  return  to  your 
command.  I  would  not  deal  unjustly  by  any,  much  less 
by  one  whose  character  as  an  officer  is  so  respectable." 
"  All  this  passed  with  the  Baron's  hat  off,  the  rain  pour 
ing  on  his  venerable  head."* 

His  acts  of  kindness  were  innumerable.  In  passing 
from  New  York  to  Virginia,  on  one  occasion,  he  heard 
a  constant  wailing  in  the  fore  part  of  the  vessel,  and 
on  inquiring  the  cause,  and  being  told  that  a  little  negro 
boy,  who  had  been  purchased  by  a  southern  gentleman, 
was  crying  for  his  parents,  he  immediately  purchased 
him  and  carried  him  back  to  his  home.  Soon  after 
the  little  fellow,  while  out  a  fishing,  fell  into  the  water 

*  Vide  Thatcher's  Military  Journal. 


312  MAJOR     GENERAL     STEUBEN. 

and  was  drowned.  When  the  Baron  heard  of  it  he 
evinced  the  deepest  emotion,  saying,  "  I  have  been  the 
cause  of  his  death ;  if  he  had  followed  his  own  destiny 
all  would  have  been  well." 

The  disbanding  of  the  army  at  Newburgh  was  a 
distressing  scene — officers  and  men  were  required  to 
lay  down  their  arms,  and  poor,  unpaid  and  destitute, 
to  return  to  their  homes.  Steuben,  though  he  had 
no  home,  nor  relative  in  the  country,  and  was  a 
stranger  in  an  impoverished  land,  still  endeavored 
to  cheer  up  the  desponding  officers,  and  throw  a 
little  sunshine  on  the  gloom.  Seeing  Colonel  Coch- 
rane  standing  alone,  the  picture  of  sorrow,  he  tried  to 
comfort  him,  by  saying  that  better  times  would  come. 
"  For  myself,"  replied  the  brave  officer,  "  I  can  stand 
it.  But  my  wife  and  daughters  are  in  the  garret  of 
that  wretched  tavern,  and  I  have  nowhere  to  carry 
them,  nor  even  money  to  remove  them."  "Come, 
come,"  said  the  Baron,  whose  kind  nature  this  reply 
had  completely  overcome,  "  I  will  pay  my  respects  to 
Mrs.  Cochrane  and  your  daughters,  if  you  please  ;"  and 
away  he  strode  to  the  tavern.  He  was  not  absent 
long,  but  he  left  happy  hearts  in  that  lonely  garret. 
He  had  emptied  the  entire  contents  of  his  purse  on  the 
table,  then  hastened  away  to  escape  the  tears  and  bless 
ings  that  were  rained  upon  him.  As  he  walked  to 
wards  the  wharf,  he  came  upon  a  poor  negro  soldier, 
whose  wounds  were  yet  unhealed,  bitterly  lamenting 
that  he  had  not  the  means  with  which  to  get  to  New 
York.  Touched  with  his  sufferings,  the  Baron's  hand 
immediately  sought  his  pocket,  but  the  last  cent  had 
been  left  in  the  garret ;  so  turning  to  an  officer,  he  bor- 


HIS     CHARACTER.  313 

rowed  a  dollar,  and  handing  it  to  the  negro,  hailed  a 
sloop  and  put  him  aboard.  As  the  poor  fellow  hobbled 
on  deck,  he  turned,  and  with  tears  streaming  down  his 
face,  exclaimed,  "God  Almighty  bless  you,  master 
Baron  !"  The  old  veteran  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye, 
and  turned  away.  Thus  did  this  stern  warrior  heart, 
which  had  moved  without  flinching,  through  the  storm 
of  so  many  battles,  melt  like  a  child's  at  the  call  of 
sympathy. 

Steuben  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  Christian  religion, 
and  a  constant  attendant  on  divine  worship,  when  in 
the  city.  He  sleeps  well  beneath  the  soil  of  the  land 
he  helped  to  free ;  and  though  the  .nation  refuses  to 
erect  a  monument  to  his  worth,  when  we  cease  to  re 
member  his  deeds,  we  shall  be  unworthy  of  the  heri 
tage  he  left  us. 

VOL.  i.  27 


IX. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  WAYNE. 

His  Early  Life — Appointed  Brigadier  General — Conduct  at  Brandy- 
wine — Battle  of  Germantown — Is  Surprised  by  the  British — Bra 
very  at  Monmouth— Storming  of  Stony  Point — Bravery  at  Green 
Spring— Wounded  by  a  Sentinel— Is  sent  to  Georgia— Defeats  the 
Choctaws — Surprises  the  English — Storming  of  his  Camp  by  the 
Indians— Returns  to  Private  Life — Expedition  against  the  Indians 
in  1793— His  Character. 

NOTHING  tends  so  much  to  perpetuate  the  brilliant 
deeds  of  a  man  as  some  sobriquet  indicative  of  his  cha 
racter.  Thus  Lannes  was  called  the  "  Ajax"  of  the 
French  army ;  Junot, "  the  tempest ;"  Murat,  "the  preux 
chevalier;"  and  Ney,  "the  bravest  of  the  brave." 
Wayne  is  known  the  country  over,  as  "  Mad  Anthony." 
The  fierceness  of  his  charge,  and  the  fury  with  which 
he  stormed  through  a  fight,  gave  him  this  appellation. 
Such  an  epithet,  by  its  familiarity,  endears  the  brave 
officer  to  the  people,  and  they  love  to  call  him  by  it 
alone.* 

ANTHONY  WAYNE  was  born  in  the  county  of  Chester, 

*  This  name  was  originally  given  by  a  witless  fellow  in  the  camp, 
who  used  always  to  take  a  circuit  when  he  came  near  Wayne,  and 
shaking  his  head,  mutter  to  himself,  "  Mad  Anthony !  mad  Anthony  !'7 
It  was  so  characteristic  of  Wayne,  however,  that  the  troops  univer 
sally  adopted  it. 


FORMS     A     VOLUNTEER     CORPS.  315 

Pennsylvania,  the  1st  of  January,  1745,  and  a  better 
new  year's  gift  fortune  could  not  have  presented  to  the 
nation.  Sent  to  school  at  an  early  age  to  his  uncle, 
he  passed  from  thence  to  the  Philadelphia  Academy, 
where  he  remained  till  seventeen  years  old,  devoting 
most  of  his  time  to  mathematical  studies.  Having 
completed  his  education,  he  returned  to  his  native 
place  and  opened  a  surveyor's  office. 

Such  was  his  reputation  as  an  energetic  and  careful 
man,  that  though  only  twenty  years  of  age,  he  was 
sent  by  some  gentlemen  of  Pennsylvania  to  Nova  Sco 
tia,  for  the  purpose  of  locating  a  grant  of  land  to  be 
obtained  from  the  crown.  He  fulfilled  his  task  so  well, 
that  he  was  chosen  superintendent  of  the  settlements,  and 
retained  this  honorable  post  until  1767.  At  this  time  he 
married  the  daughter  of  Benjamin  Primrose,  of  Phila 
delphia,  and  returning  to  his  birthplace,  resumed  his 
former  business  of  land-surveyor.  Here  he  continued 
till  the  question  of  taxation  began  to  agitate  the  colonies. 
He  not  only  took  firm  ground  against  the  aggressive 
acts  of  the  mother  country,  but  from  the  outset  declared 
that  the  difficulties  would  end  in  open  hostilities.  Leav 
ing  politicians,  therefore,  to  discuss  the  question  of  right, 
he  went  to  work  organizing  a  volunteer  corps,  and  in  six 
weeks  had  a  regiment  under  his  command.  At  the  open 
ing  of  the  war  he  was  appointed  colonel  by  Congress,  and 
dispatched  to  the  northern  army,  then  invading  Canada. 

He  was  at  this  time  thirty  years  of  age  ;  handsome, 
fearless,  full  of  fire  and  energy,  and  panting  like  a 
young  knight  for  glory.  Arriving  at  the  river  Sorel, 
he  was  selected  to  take  part  in  the  miserably  con 
ducted  attack  on  Trois  Rivieres.  The  commanding 


316  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

officer,  General  Thompson,  having  been  taken  pris 
oner,  and  Colonel  St.  Clair,  next  in  rank,  being  injured 
by  running  a  root  through  his  foot,  the  direction  of 
the  troops  devolved  on  Wayne,  who,  though  wounded 
infinitely  worse  than  St.  Clair,  conducted  the  retreat 
with  skill  and  success.  He  fell  back  with  the  army  to 
Ticonderoga,  and  was  there  when  Arnold  fought  his 
naval  battle  on  Lake  Champlain.  When  Gates  was 
ordered  to  the  Jerseys  to  reinforce  Washington,  then 
hard  pressed,  he  was  left  with  two  thousand  five  hun 
dred  men  in  command  of  the  fortress.  Here  he  re 
ceived  his  appointment  of  brigadier-general. 

The  next  spring  at  his  urgent  request  he  was  joined 
to  the  main  army,  and  placed  over  a  brigade.  He 
knew  that  the  great  struggle  was  to  be  about  Wash 
ington,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be  away  while  it  was 
passing.  Young  and  ardent,  his  fiery  spirit  needed 
more  action  than  the  confined  walls  of  a  fortress  per 
mitted,  and  he  begged  to  be  placed  in  the  open  field, 
where  work  was  to  be  done  and  glory  gained.  Pre 
vious  to  the  battle  of  Brandy  wine,  he  then  in  Sullivan's 
command,  hung  incessantly  on  the  rear  of  the  British 
army — now  rushing  to  the  attack,  and  now  retreating, 
exhibiting  a  daring,  and  yet  prudence,  which  elicited 
the  highest  praise  from  his  commander.  At  the  battle 
of  Brandywine  he  was  stationed  at  Chad's  Ford,  to 
prevent  the  enemy  from  crossing  at  that  point.  Two 
miles  off  on  his  right,  lay  Armstrong's  division,  and  on 
his  left  that  of  Sullivan,  while  Greene  held  the  reserve. 
But  Howe  did  not  choose  to  risk  the  battle  by  forcing 
the  Americans  in  front,  and  so  detached  Cornwallis, 
with  the  main  part  of  the  army,  to  cross  several  miles 


GALLANTRY     AT     BRANDYWINE.  317 

farther  up  the  river,  and  by  a  circuitous  march  fall  on 
the  flank  and  rear  of  the  Americans.  The  manoeuvre 
succeeded,  and  the  latter  were  driven  in  disorder 
from  the  field.  When  Knyphausen  saw  the  progress 
of  Cornwallis,  he  put  his  columns  in  motion,  and 
began  to  cross  the  ford,  so  as  to  join  in  the  battle. 
Ever  since  morning  he  had  kept  up  a  furious  cannon 
ade  across  the  river,  on  purpose  to  distract  the  Ameri 
can  general  from  the  main  point  of  attack. 

Wayne  defended  his  position  with  great  bravery, 
steadily  hurling  back  the  masses  of  the  enemy  till  sun 
set,  when  seeing  some  British  emerge  from  a  wood  on 
his  flank,  he  ordered  a  retreat,  and  pressed  after  the 
defeated  army. 

Washington  retired  to  Chester,  and  from  thence  to 
Philadelphia.  Soon  after,  however,  having  received 
reinforcements,  he  again  took  the  field,  and  marching 
rapidly  on  the  Lancaster  road,  halted  within  five  miles 
of  Goshen,  where  Lord  Howe  lay  with  his  forces. 
The  two  armies  were  immediately  placed  in  battle 
array,  the  advanced  parties  opened  their  fire,  and 
everything  indicated  a  fierce  battle.  But  just  then 
there  came  on  a  furious  rain-storm,  drenching  the 
American  troops  and  spoiling  their  ammunition,  so  that 
they  were  compelled  to  retire. 

The  next  day  Washington  dispatched  Wayne  to 
Howe's  rear,  in  order  to  cut  off  his  baggage  train. 
Making  a  circuitous  march,  he  at  length  took  post 
three  miles  from  the  British  camp,  and  waited  for  the 
reinforcements  under  Smallwood.  In  the  meantime, 
Howe  had  been  informed  by  spies  of  his  danger 
ous  proximity,  and  immediately  resolved  to  make  a 
-  27* 


818  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

night  attack  on  his  camp  and  capture  it.  A  rumor 
of  this  expedition  reached  the  latter  before  evening, 
and  though  he  doubted  its  truth,  he  still,  as  an  act  of 
precaution,  doubled  his  pickets  and  patrols,  and  ordered 
his  men  to  sleep  on  their  arms,  with  their  ammunition 
under  their  coats.  It  was  a  dark  and  rainy  night,  and 
all  was  silent  in  the  camp,  when  word  was  brought 
that  a  British  column  was  close  upon  it.  Guided  by 
the  fires,  the  dark  mass  of  the  enemy  was  noiseless 
ly  approaching  with  fixed  bayonets,  hoping  to  find 
the  Americans  sunk  in  sleep.  But  Wayne  immedi 
ately  ordered  Colonel  Hampton  to  wheel  the  line,  and 
move  off,  while  he  himself,  with  the  horse  and  a  por 
tion  of  the  infantry,  covered  the  retreat.  This  officer 
delayed  to  execute  the  orders  given  him,  till  they  had 
been  repeated  three  times,  and  thus  allowed  the  Brit 
ish  to  approach.  Rushing  furiously  to  the  attack,  and 
relying  solely  on  the  bayonet,  they  for  a  while  made 
terrible  slaughter.  The  midnight  was  lighted  up  with 
the  flash  of  musketry,  as  Wayne,  endeavoring  to  arrest 
the  assailants,  poured  his  vollies  upon  them  ;  but  nothing 
could  stop  their  progress,  and  they  swept  the  entire 
camp,  capturing  all  the  baggage  and  stores,  and  leaving 
one  hundred  and  fifty  Americans  on  the  field.  Small- 
wood  was  only  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  action,  and  had 
his  troops  been  firm  and  marched  forward,  they  might 
have  reversed  the  victory ;  but  meeting  the  wreck  of 
Wayne's  command  driving  through  the  darkness,  they 
turned  and  fled  in  affright.* 

*  There  is  much  difference  of  opinion  respecting  this  surprise  of 
Wayne.  Following  my  authority,  I  have  here  given  the  best  version 
Of  the  affair,  which  I  candidly  confess  I  do  not  wholly  believe.  It  is 


A     NIGHT     MARCH.  319 


BATTLE    OF    GERMANTOWN. 

Shortly  after  this  the  battle  of  Germantown  was 
delivered,  in  which  Wayne  fought  with  his  accustomed 
bravery.  After  the  action  of  Brandy  wine,  the  British 
steadily  advanced  until  they  finally  took  possession  of 
Philadelphia.  Cornwallis,  however,  entered  the  city 
with  but  a  small  portion  of  his  troops,  leaving  the  main 
Srmy  encamped  at  Germantown  along  the^fchuylkill. 
On  this  Washington  determined  to  fall  suddenly  with 
his  entire  force,  and  retrieve  the  heavy  losses  he  had 
sustained.  Dividing  his  army  into  four  portions,  he 
designed  to  enter  the  town  at  four  different  points — the 
whole,  in  their  advance,  tending  to  a  common  centre, 
like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel — and  thus  distracting  the 
enemy  by  attacking  them  in  so  many  opposite  direc 
tions,  capture  them  at  once  or  drive  them  into  the 
river.  On  the  evening  of  the  third  of  October,  at 
seven  o'clock,  the  columns  were  put  in  motion,  and 
marched  rapidly  towards  Germantown.  It  was  a  dark 
night,  and  a  heavy  fog  enveloped  everything.  De 
tachments  of  cavalry  were  sent  forward  to  scour  the 
road,  and  went  galloping  through  the  gloom — officers 
dashed  about  in  the  mist  to  preserve  order,  while  the 
rumbling  of  the  artillery  wagons,  and  the  heavy  tread 
of  the  advancing  thousands,  shook  the  ground  ;  and  all 
betokened  a  fierce  struggle  at  hand. 

difficult  to  conceive  how  Wayne  should  have  lost  a  hundred  and  fifty 
men,  and  all  his  camp  equipage,  when  he  was  prepared  for  an  attack 
and  had  a  safe  retreat  open  to  him.  The  simple  fact,  that  Hampton 
did  not  immediately  obey  orders,  does  not  explain  it.  Whether  to 
blame  or  not,  he  was  evidently  taken  by  surprise. 


320  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

Thus  they  marched  all  night,  and  in  the  morning 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  when  the  separate 
columns  wheeled  off  to  their  respective  positions. 
Armstrong  was  to  gain  the  enemy's  left  and  rear, 
Greene  to  move  down  on  the  right  wing,  Small  wood 
and  Freeman  to  march  along  the  old  York  road,  upon 
the  right  flank,  while  Sullivan  and  Wayne,  accompanied 
by  Washington  in  person,  were  to  fall  on  the  centre, 
and  thus  together  crowd  the  British  army  in  a  con 
fused  masij&n  the  Schuylkill. 

The  day  now  began  to  dawn,  and  the  troops,  though 
they  had  marched  fourteen  miles  during  the  night, 
pressed  cheerfully  forward  ;  and  the  army,  with  its  wide 
extended  wings,  swooped  like  a  descending  eagle  upon 
the  enemy's  camp,  threatening  to  bear  it  away  with  one 
fell  stroke.  The  pickets  were  driven  in,  and  firing  their 
guns  in  alarm,  fled  back  to  camp.  In  a  moment  drums 
beat  furiously  through  the  mist — "  To  arms  !  to  arms  /" 
rose  in  muffled  accents  on  the  thick  air,  the  artillery 
blazed  through  the  twilight,  horsemen  glanced  like 
spectres  on  the  sight,  and  amid  the  pealing  of  trumpets, 
and  roar  of  cannon,  and  shouts  of  men,  the  battle  opened. 
Wayne,  at  the  head  of  his  column,  drove  everything 
before  him.  His  steady  troops  took  the  first  fire  of  the 
enemy  without  returning  a  shot,  and  pressing  rapidly 
forward,  swept  the  field  with  the  bayonet.  The  dis 
ordered  troops,  however,  rallying  again,  awaited  the 
onset  firmly,  when  the  vollies  on  both  sides  opened 
with  terrible  effect.  But  nothing  could  resist  the  im 
petuous  Americans,  and  again  and  again  they  broke 
the  enemy's  ranks  to  pieces.  Led  on  by  Wayne,  who 
galloped  into  the  hottest  of  the  fire,  they  charged  with 


THE     BATTLE.  321 

such  ftry  that  the  firmest  grenadiers  recoiled  from  the 
shock.  The  fog  was  so  thick  that  the  lines  could  not 
see  each  other  till  within  a  few  rods,  and  hence  often 
fired  at  each  other's  vollies,  and  charged  where  the 
last  blaze  was  seen.  Riding  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his 
column,  cheering  on  his  men,  Wayne  was  struck  in  the 
foot  by  a  spent  ball — another  grazed  his  hand,  a  third 
and  fourth  smote  his  horse  in  the  head  and  flank,  and 
he  sunk  to  the  earth.*  Springing  to  his  feet,  he  shout 
ed  "  forward  !"  and,  pressing  on  in  his  fierce  passage, 
drove  the  routed  enemy  before  him  in  utter  confusion. 
Sullivan,  with  Washington,  a  little  to  the  south,  was 
charging  like  fire  on  the  centre,  while  the  smoke  of  the 
musketry  and  cannon  mingling  in  black  volumes  with 
the  fog,  made  the  darkness  still  more  impenetrable, 
and  enveloped  the  armies  in  a  strange  and  fearful  bat 
tle-cloud.  The  white  steed  of  Washington  was  seen 
galloping  through  the  gloom,  and  where  the  vollies 
were  heaviest,  there  that  lofty  form  towered  on  the 
sight,  as  the  cloud  opened  for  a  moment  around  him. 
Bearing  down  all  opposition,  the  victorious  troops 
swept  forward  with  shouts  and  huzzas,  and  a  glorious 
victory  seemed  already  won.  Oh  !  then  for  one  hour 
of  broad  daylight,  for  a  single  burst  of  sunshine  to  re 
veal  to  those  divided  columns  their  true  position. 

Bat  in  this  critical  moment  a  large  body  of  troops 
emerged  through  the  mist,  directly  on  the  left  flank  of 
Sullivan's  and  Wayne's  divisions.  Terror-struck  at  the 
thought  of  being  cut  off  in  the  rear,  the  men  turned  and 

*  Two  days  after  the  battle,  this  noble  roan,  much  to  the  astonish 
ment  of  Wayne,  walked  leisurely  into  camp.  His  wounds  had  proved 
not  to  be  mortal,  and  he  n*ad  wandered  about  till  he  found  the  army. 


322  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

fled.  Alas !  this  was  but  one  of  the  attacking  columns  just 
entering  the  battle.  It  was  too  late,  however,  to  remedy 
the  error ;  everything  got  in  confusion,  and  the  enemy 
in  the  interval  rallied  and  turned  in  pursuit.  A  large 
stone  building,  called  Chew's  house,  directly  on  the  line 
of  march,  into  which  some  British  soldiers  threw  them 
selves,  and  maintained  their  position  against  every  at 
tack,  also  contributed  to  secure  a  defeat.  Afraid  to  leave 
this  strong  post  in  the  rear,  and  stopping  to  reduce  it, 
retarded  the  onward  movement  of  the  whole  army, 
and  hence  weakened  the  force  of  the  first  attack.  The 
other  columns,  after  coming  into  the  action  gallantly, 
found  they  were  not  sustained,  and  fell  back,  and  the 
order  to  retreat  was  given. 

Wayne  commanded  the  rear-guard,  and  placing  a 
battery  on  a  low  hill,  opened  such  a  destructive  fire  on 
the  heads  of  the  pursuing  regiments  that  they  staggered 
under  it,  and  finally  recoiled.  A  detachment  of  Ame 
ricans,  exhausted  and  close  pressed,  were  flying  in  a 
broken  mass  before  them,  and  would  have  been  cap 
tured  but  for  this  sudden  and  well-directed  fire. 

The  actual  loss  on  both  sides  was  nearly  equal ;  and 
though  the  attack,  so  well  planned,  owing  to  the  dense 
fog,  was  repulsed,  the  Americans  considered  them 
selves  by  no  means  beaten,  and  were  eager  for  another 
engagement. 

These  two  battles  on  a  large  scale,  the  first  in  which 
Wayne  took  a  part,  did  not  destroy  the  confidence  re 
posed  in  him  by  the  commander-in-chief.  Cool  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  steady  in  the  shock,  and  headlong  in 
the  assault,  he  showed  himself  worthy  to  stand  beside 
his  renowned  leader. 


BRAVERY     AT     M ON MOUTH.  323 

The  next  winter,  while  our  army  lay  at  Valley 
Forge,  naked,  destitute,  and  heart-broken,  Wayne  was 
busy  in  New  Jersey  obtaining  provisions  and  horses, 
in  which  service  he  was  compelled  to  exercise  all 
his  dexterity  to  prevent  being  surprised  by  the  enemy. 
One  company  was  taken  by  the  Hessians,  and  mas 
sacred  while  crying  for  quarter. 

At  the  battle  of  Momnouth  he  commanded  under  La 
fayette,  and  during  that  fearful  day  fought  with  such 
desperate  valour,  and  poured  his  troops  to  the  charge 
with  such  impetuosity,  that  he  drew  forth  expressions 
of  admiration  from  Washington.  Disputing  every 
inch  of  ground  with  a  tenacity  that  nothing  seemed 
able  to  shake,  and  pressing  every  advantage  with  a 
vigor  that  even  the  burning  sun  under  which  he  toiled 
could  not  lessen,  he  stood  one  of  the  chief  props  of  that 
glorious  battle.  In  the  first  place,  when  the  council 
of  war  decided  against  the  action,  he  sternly  refused  to 
sign  the  proceedings  ;  and  at  Lee's  retreat  was  thrown 
into  a  perfect  rage.  Burning  for  the  conflict,  he  entered 
it  soul  and  heart,  and  his  last  charge  on  the  enemy's  cen 
tre  was  terrible.  Nothing  could  resist  it — the  English 
thousands  recoiled  and  fled,  and  those  who  pressed  after 
"  Mad  Anthony"  that  day,  never  forgot  the  enthusiasm 
and  fury  with  which  he  carried  them  to  the  onset. 

STORMING    OF    STONY    POINT. 

But  the  most  brilliant  action  of  his  life,  and  one  most 
illustrative  of  his  character,  was  the  storming  of  Stony 
Point.  Washington,  at  Wayne's  request,  had  organ 
ized  a  corps  of  light  infantry,  and  put  him  over  it,  with 
directions  to  take  this  stronghold.  This  fortress  was 


324  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

apparently  impregnable  to  any  storming  party;  for, 
situated  on  a  hill,  it  was  washed  by  the  Hudson  on  two 
sides,  while  on  the  other  lay  a  marsh  which  every  tide 
overflowed.  Besides  these  natural  defences,  a  double 
row  of  abatis  surrounded  the  entire  hill,  and  on  the  top 
were  high  ramparts  bristling  with  cannon.  Six  hun 
dred  veteran  troops  garrisoned  this  rock ;  sufficient, 
one  would  think,  to  defend  it  against  five  times  the 
number.  But  it  was  no  common  obstacle  that  could 
deter  Wayne  when  his  mind  was  once  made  up,  and 
he  determined,  formidable  as  it  was,  to  execute  the 
task  assigned  him  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  It  is  said 
that  while  conversing  with  Washington  on  the  pro 
posed  expedition,  he  remarked  :  "  General,  if  you  will 
only  plan  it,  I  will  storm  H — /." 

He  carefully  reconnoitered  the  ground,  and  having 
ascertained  the  exact  position  of  things,  formed  his 
plan  of  attack.  On  the  15th  of  July,  1779,  he  started 
from  Sandy  Beach,  fourteen  miles  distant,  and  at  eight 
in  the  evening  arrived  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  the 
fortress.  It  was  now  twilight;  and  the  mild  summer 
evening  with  its  cooling  breeze  stole  over  the  water — 
the  stars  came  out  one  by  one  on  the  sky,  and  the  tran 
quil  river  flowed  by  in  majestic  silence,  and  all  was 
sweet  and  peaceful.  While  nature  was  thus  reposing 
in  beauty  around  him,  Wayne,  with  his  strong  soul 
wrought  up  to  the  task  before  him,  stood  in  the  gather 
ing  shades  of  evening,  and  gazed  long  and  anxiously  in 
the  direction  of  the  fort. 

Over  hills,  across  morasses,  and  along  the  broken 
shores  of  the  Hudson,  he  had  led  his  little  army  noise 
lessly,  in  Indian  file,  and  now  waited  for  the  deep- 


THE     ASSAULT.  325 

erring  night  to  lock  his  enemies  in  slumber.  Still  un 
discovered  by  the  garrison,  he  began  to  reconnoitre 
the  works  more  closely,  and  at  half-past  eleven  put  his 
columns  in  motion.  He  divided  his  army  into  two 
portions,  one  of  which  was  to  enter  the  fortress  on  the 
right,  and  the  other  on  the  left.  In  advance  of  each 
went  a  forlorn-hope  of  twenty  men,  to  remove  the  piles 
of  rubbish  that  were  stretched  in  double  rows  around 
the  rock,  and  placed  just  where  the  batteries  could 
mow  down  the  assailants  fastest.  Behind  these  forlorn- 
hopes  marched  two  companies  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
men  each.  Wayne  knew  that  everything  must  rest  on 
the  bayonet,  and  so  he  ordered  the  load  of  every  musket 
of  those  two  companies  to  be  drawn,  while  the  first 
man  who  should  take  his  gun  from  his  shoulder  or 
utter  a  word  without  orders,  or  attempt  to  retreat,  was 
to  be  put  to  death  by  the  officer  nearest  him.  Silently 
these  devoted  bands  submitted  to  the  desperate  mea 
sures,  and  fixing  a  piece  of  white  paper  in  front  of 
their  caps  to  distinguish  them  from  the  enemy,  gal 
lantly  moved  forward  at  the  low  word  of  command. 
At  midnight  the  two  columns,  headed  by  their  forlorn- 
hopes,  came  in  sight  of  the  fortress,  along  whose  dark 
ramparts  the  sentinel  was  lazily  treading  his  accustomed 
round,  while  the  deep  "  All's  well"  fell  faintly  on  the  list 
ening  ear.  Grim  and  still  the  huge  black  rock  loomed 
up  against  the  sky,  soon  to  shake  with  its  own  thunder, 
and  stand  a  blazing  volcano  in  the  midnight  heavens. 
Noiseless  and  swift  the  fearless  patriots  kept  on  their 
way,  when  lo  !  as  they  came  to  the  marsh,  they  saw 
only  a  smooth  sheet  of  water — the  tide  was  up,  flood 
ing  the  whole  ground.  The  brave  fellows  paused  a 
\OL.  i.  28 


326  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

moment,  as  this  new  and  unexpected  obstacle  crossed 
their  path,  but  at  the  stern  "  forward,"  of  their  leaders, 
they  boldly  plunged  in,  and  without  a  drum  or  bugle  note 
to  cheer  their  steady  courage,  moved  in  dead  silence 
straight  on  the  palisades.  The  noise  had  now  alarmed 
the  sentinels,  and  the  rapid  discharge  of  their  muskets 
through  the  gloom,  was  followed  by  lights,  moving 
swiftly  about  upon  the  ramparts,  and  hurried  shouts  of 
"  To  arms  !  to  arms  /"  and  the  fierce  roll  of  drums, 
rousing  up  the  garrison  from  its  dream  of  security. 
The  next  moment  that  dark  rock  was  one  mass  of 
flame,  as  the  artillery  and  musketry  opened  along  its 
sides,  shedding  a  lurid  light  on  the  countenances  of 
the  men  below,  and  "  Advance  !  advance  /"  rung  in 
startling  accents  along  the  ranks. 

The  ramparts  were  alive  with  soldiers,  and  amid 
shouts  and  hurried  words  of  command,  the  fiery  tor 
rent  from  the  summit  kept  rolling  on  those  devoted 
men.  The  water  around  them  was  driven  into  spray 
by  the  grape-shot  and  balls  that  fell  in  an  incessant 
shower,  while  the  hissing,  bursting  shells,  traversing 
the  air  in  every  direction,  added  inconceivable  terror 
to  the  scene.  Yet  those  forlorn  hopes  toiled  vigor 
ously  on,  and  heaved  away  at  the  abatis  to  open  a  gap 
for  the  columns,  that  without  returning  a  shot,  stood 
and  crumbled  under  the  fire,  waiting  with  fixed  bayo 
nets  to  rush  to  the  assault.  At  the  head  of  one  of  these 
was  Wayne,  chafing  like  a  lion  in  the  toils,  at  the  ob 
stacles  that  arrested  his  progress.  The  forlorn-hope  in 
front  of  him  worked  steadily  on  in  the  very  blaze  of 
the  batteries,  and  the  rapid  blows  of  their  axes  were 
heard  in  the  intervals  of  the  thunder  of  artillery  that 


THE     VICTORY.  327 

shook  the  midnight  air,  while  one  after  another  drop 
ped  dead  in  his  footsteps,  till  out  of  the  twenty  that 
started,  only  three  stood  up  unharmed.  Yet  still 
their  axes  fell  steady  and  strong,  till  an  opening  was 
made,  through  which  the  columns  could  pass,  and  then 
the  shout  of  Wayne  was  heard  above  the  din  and  tu 
mult,  summoning  his  followers  on.  With  fixed  bayo 
nets  they  marched  sternly  through  the  portals  made  at 
such  a  noble  sacrifice,  and  pressed  furiously  forward. 
Through  the  morass — over  every  obstacle — up  to  the 
very  mouths  of  the  cannon,  and  up  the  rocky  acclivity, 
they  stormed  on,  crushing  everything  in  their  passage. 
Towering  at  the  head  of  his  shattered  column,  pointing 
'still  onward  and  upward  with  his  glittering  blade,  and 
sending  his  thrilling  shout  back  over  his  followers, 
Wayne  strode  steadily  up  the  height,  till  at  length, 
struck  in  the  head  by  a  musket-ball,  he  fell  backward 
amid  the  ranks.  Instantly  rising  on  one  knee,  he 
cried  out,  "  March  on!  carry  me  into  the  fort,  for  I 
will  die  at  the  head  of  my  column."  And  those  heroes 
put  their  brave  arms  around  him  and  bore  him  onward. 
Not  a  shot  was  fired,  but  taking  the  rapid  vollies  on 
their  unshrinking  breasts,  their  bayonets  glittering  in 
the  flash  of  the  enemy's  guns,  they  kept  on  over  the 
living  and  dead,  smiting  down  the  veteran  ranks  that 
threw  themselves  in  vain  valor  before  them,  till  they 
reached  the  centre  of  the  fort,  where  they  met  the 
other  column,  which,  over  the  same  obstacles,  had 
achieved  the  same  triumph.  At  the  sight  of  each 
other,  one  loud  shout  shook  the  heights  and  rolled  down 
the  bleeding  line — was  again  sent  back  till  the  heavens 
rung  with  the  wild  huzzas,  and  then  the  flag  of  freedom 


328  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

went  up  and  flaunted  proudly  away  on  the  midnight 
air.  The  thick  volumes  of  smoke  that  lay  around  that 
rock,  slowly  lifted  and  rolled  up  the  Hudson,  the  stars 
appeared  once  more  in  the  sky,  and  all  was  over.  The 
lordly  river  went  sweeping  by  as  it  had  done  during 
the  deadly  strife  that  cast  such  a  baleful  light  on  its 
bosom,  and  darkness  and  death-like  silence  shrouded 
the  shores.  Mournfully  and  slow  those  forlorn-hopes 
and  their  brave  companions  who  had  fallen  in  the  as 
sault,  were  brought  up  from  their  gory  beds  and  con 
veyed  to  the  grave.* 

Wayne's  wound  proved  not  to  be  severe — the  ball 
having  only  grazed  the  skull  for  two  inches,  and  he 
lived  to  wear  the  laurels  a  grateful  nation  placed  on 
his  brow.  The  country  rung  with  his  name,  and  Con 
gress  presented  him  with  a  gold  medal.  The  whole 
plan  of  the  assault  was  most  skilfully  laid,  and  the  bear 
ing  of  Wayne  throughout  gallant  in  the  extreme.  He 
chose  the  post  of  danger  at  the  head  of  his  column,  and 
led  his  men  where  even  the  bravest  might  shrink  to  fol 
low,  and  when  struck  and  apparently  dying,  heroically 
demanded  to  be  carried  forward,  that  he  might  die  in 
the  arms  of  victory,  or  be  left  where  the  last  stand  was 
made.  His  troops  were  worthy  of  such  a  leader,  and 
more  gallant  officers  never  led  men  into  battle.  Their 
humanity  was  equal  to  their  bravery,  for  notwithstand 
ing  the  barbarous  massacres  perpetrated  by  the  English, 
they  did  not  kill  a  single  man  after  he  asked  for  quar 
ter.  Eulogiums  came  pouring  in  upon  him  from  every 
direction.  Even  Lee,  whom  he  had  condemned  for 

*  Lieutenant  Gibbons  commanded  one  of  the  forlorn-hopes  and  Knox 
the  other. 


LETTER     FROM     LEE.  329 

his  conduct  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  wrote  to  him 
saying,  "  What  I  am  going  to  say  you  will  not,  I  hope, 
consider  as  paying  my  court  in  this  your  hour  of  glory ; 
for  it  is  at  least  my  present  intention  to  leave  this  con 
tinent.  I  can  have  no  interest  in  paying  court  to  any 
individual.  What  I  shall  say,  therefore,  is  dictated  by 
the  genuine  feelings  of  my  heart.  I  do  most  sincerely 
declare,  that  your  assault  of  Stony  Point  is  not  only  the 
most  brilliant,  in  my  opinion,  throughout  the  whole 
course  of  the  war,  on  either  side,  but  that  it  is  the  most 
brilliant  I  am  acquainted  with  in  history ;  the  assault 
of  Schweidnitz,  by  Marshal  Laudon,  I  think  inferior  to 
it.  I  wish  you,  therefore,  most  sincerely,  joy  of  all  the 
laurels  you  have  deservedly  acquired,  and  that  you  may 
long  live  to  wear  them."  Lafayette  congratulated  him, 
and  Benjamin  Rush  wrote  him,  saying,  "  My  dear  sir, 
there  was  but  one  thing  wanting  in  your  late  successful 
attack  upon  Stony  Point  to  complete  your  happiness : 
and  that  is,  the  wound  you  received  should  have  affect 
ed  your  hearing  ;  for  I  fear  you  will  be  stunned  through 
those  organs  with  your  own  praises.  Our  streets,  for 
many  days,  rang  with  nothing  but  the  name  of  General 
Wayne.  You  are  remembered  constantly  next  to  our 
good  and  great  Washington,  over  our  claret  and  Ma 
deira.  You  have  established  the  national  character  of 
our  country ;  you  have  taught  our  enemies  that  bravery, 
humanity,  and  magnanimity,  are  the  national  virtues  of 
the  Americans." 

Not  long  after  this  he  was  sent  to  break  up  a  nest 
of  British  banditti,  who  had  established  themselves  be 
tween  the  Hudson  and  Hackensac,  and  built  a  block 
house  in  which  to  shelter  themselves.  Only  partially 

28* 


330  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

succeeding  in  this  expedition,  he  rejoined  the  main 
army  in  its  winter-quarters  at  Morristown.  His  corps 
was  stationed  at  a  little  distance  from  the  town,  in 
order  to  act  as  occasion  might  require.  While  sta 
tioned  here  dissatisfaction  began  to  appear  among  the 
troops,  which,  on  New  Year's  day,  broke  out  into  an 
open  mutiny.  The  soldiers  renounced  all  obedience, 
fired  upon  and  killed  the  officers  and  men  who  with 
stood  them,  and  declared  they  would  march  to  Con 
gress  and  demand,  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  a  redress 
of  their  grievances.  Wayne  endeavored  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  allay  the  discontent,  but  finding 
them  all  ineffectual,  he  drew  his  pistol  at  the  ring 
leaders.  The  men  levelled  their  guns  at  him,  when  he 
calmly  told  them  to  fire  if  they  wished.  They  replied 
they  had  no  desire  to  harm  him,  but  their  wrongs 
should  be  redressed ;  and  marched  away,  fifteen  hun 
dred  of  them,  for  Congress.  The  second  day  Wayne 
followed  and  overtook  them.  Regardless  of  the  dan 
ger  of  thus  throwing  himself  among  the  exasperated 
mutineers,  he  rode  up  to  the  head  of  their  column,  urg 
ing  the  men  to  exercise  more  care  in  their  march,  and 
exhorting  them  not  to  desert  to  the  enemy.  The  next 
day  proposals  came  from  the  British  commander  to 
have  them  join  his  army  in  New  York.  These  disor 
derly  but  patriotic  men  immediately  imprisoned  the 
bearers  of  this  proposition,  and  declared  to  Wayne  that 
if  the  enemy  should  make  any  hostile  movement,  they 
"would  immediately  march  under  their  old  and  be 
loved  commander  to  meet  and  repel  it."  The  difficul 
ties  were  finally  adjusted  through  the  efforts  of  Wayne, 
and  a  great  calamity  escaped. 


BOLp     ATTACK.  331 

In  1781,  he,  with  a  corps  of  eleven  hundred  men, 
joined  Lafayette  in  Virginia,  when  the  latter  stopped 
retreating,  and  immediately  assumed  the  offensive. 
Pushing  Cornwallis  steadily  before  him  to  James 
town,  he  was  told  that  the  main  body  of  the  English 
had  crossed  the  river,  leaving  only  a  rear-guard  be 
hind.  He  immediately  ordered  Wayne  to  push  on 
with  seven  hundred  chosen  men,  and  fall  upon  it.  The 
latter,  advancing  rapidly,  soon  met  the  enemy's  pickets, 
which  he  drove  before  him,  and  pressed  straight  for  the 
camp.  But  on  coming  up,  he  found,  to  his  surprise, 
instead  of  a  rear-guard,  the  whole  British  army  drawn 
up  in  battle  array,  and  the  columns  already  in  mo 
tion  stretching  off  to  outflank  him.  At  this  critical 
moment  the  hero  of  Stony  Point  needed  all  his  pres 
ence  of  mind,  for  a  single  false  movement  would  in 
sure  his  ruin.  But  with  his  usual  promptness  and 
decision,  he  instantly  took  his  determination.  Know 
ing  that  a  precipitate  retreat  would  cause  a  great  part 
of  his  corps  to  be  sacrificed,  he  resolved  on  a  sudden 
and  bold  attack  of  the  whole  army.  The  charge  was 
sounded,  and  that  gallant  little  corps  moved  steadily 
forward  in  the  face  of  a  tremendous  cannonade,  and 
pushed  on  with  such  vigor,  that  Cornwallis,  thinking 
the  whole  American  army  was  upon  him,  hastily  called 
in  his  flanking  companies,  and  began  to  concentrate  his 
forces.  Taking  advantage  of  this  panic  and  doubt, 
Wayne  ordered  a  retreat,  which  was  so  rapidly  and 
skilfully  executed  that  no  pursuit  was  attempted.  He 
left  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  his  brave  troops  stretched 
on  the  field,  showing  through  what  a  terrible  fire  he 


332  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

had  carried  them ;  but  he  probably  saved  his  whole 
corps  by  the  sacrifice. 

Cornwallis  soon  after  retired  to  Yorktown,  where 
he  closed  his  career.  When  the  French  fleet  arrived 
in  the  Chesapeake,  Wayne  sought  an  interview  with 
Lafayette.  The  latter  appointed  a  time  ;  and  Wayne 
proceeding  to  his  camp,  arrived  there  about  ten 
o'clock  at  night.  The  sentry,  who  challenged  him, 
notwithstanding  the  proper  password  was  given,  was 
so  panic-struck,  that  he  discharged  his  musket  at 
him,  shooting  him  through  the  thigh.  The  wound 
troubled  him  for  some  time,  but  he  recovered  so  as  to  be 
present  at  the  siege  of  Yorktown.  After  the  surrender 
he  joined  the  army  of  General  Greene,  still  struggling 
manfully  in  the  south,  and  was  sent  by  this  officer  with 
only  seven  hundred  troops  to  operate  in  Georgia.  The 
enemy  outnumbered  him  three  to  one,;  yet  he  boldly 
took  the  field,  and  kept  it  in  spite  of  every  effort  made 
against  him. 

Fearless,  untiring,  and  indefatigable,  he  made  up  in 
activity  and  promptness  what  he  lacked  in  strength ; 
and  driving  his  enemy  from  one  post  to  another — now 
hanging  on  his  flanks,  and  now  falling  furiously  on  him 
in  front — he  pressed  every  advantage  with  such  vigor, 
that  in  five  weeks  he  had  wrested  the  entire  state  from 
his  grasp,  with  the  exception  of  Savannah.  But  a 
strange  spectacle  met  his  gaze  as  he  advanced.  The 
British,  in  order  to  distress  him,  gathered  together,  as 
they  fell  back,  all  the  provisions  and  forage,  and  set  fire 
to  them  ;  so  that  as  he  slowly  moved  down  the  river, 
all  along  its  winding  course,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach — from  the  shores  and  islands,  fires  were  blazing 


DEFEATS     THE     CHOCTAWS.  333 

and  vast  volumes  of  smoke  ascending  ;  rendering  the 
scene  at  once  fearful  and  picturesque. 

During  these  five  weeks  of  almost  constant  marching 
and  fighting,  Wayne  exhibited  a  patience  and  fortitude 
equal  to  his  intrepidity,  and  imparted  a  portion  of  his 
spirit  to  his  brave  troops,  who  cheerfully  marched 
wherever  he  led,  and  never  in  the  whole  time  once 
took  off  their  clothes  to  rest.  In  speaking  of  the  diffi 
cult  task  assigned  him,  in  a  letter  to  Greene,  he  says : 
"  The  duty  we  have  done  in  Georgia  was  more  diffi 
cult  than  that  imposed  upon  the  children  of  Israel ; 
they  had  only  to  make  bricks  without  straw,  but  we 
have  had  provision,  forage,  and  almost  every  other  ap 
paratus  of  war,  to  procure  without  money  ;  boats, 
bridges,  &c.,  to  build  without  materials,  except  those 
taken  from  the  stump  ;  and  what  was  more  difficult 
than  all,  to  make  Whigs  out  of  Tories.  But  this  we 
have  effected,  and  have  wrested  the  country  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  with  the  exception  only  of  the 
town  of  Savannah.  How  to  keep  it  without  some  ad 
ditional  force  is  a  matter  worthy  of  consideration" 
True  enough,  worthy  of  serious  "  consideration,"  espe 
cially  how,  with  a  few  hundred  cavalry  and  infantry, 
to  blockade  this  same  town  of  Savannah,  containing 
more  than  two  thousand  troops. 

Receiving,  however,  a  small  reinforcement,  he  kept 
the  field,  and  every  advantage  he  had  gained.  In  the 
meantime,  the  British  commander  had  induced  the 
Choctaws  and  Creeks  to  join  him  as  allies,  and  they 
were  far  on  their  way  before  Wayne  got  word  of  it. 
Immediately  putting  his  troops  in  motion,  he  fell  furi 
ously  upon  the  former,  just  as  they  were  approaching 


334  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

Savannah,  and  routed  them  completely.  Hearing  of  this 
catastrophe,  the  British  commander  sent  out  a  strong 
party  of  horse  and  foot  to  protect  the  Creeks,  now  also 
marching  up.  Wayne,  knowing  of  a  defile  across  a 
swamp,  over  which  the  detachment  must  pass,  took 
with  him  only  one  company  of  infantry,  and  a  few 
dragoons,  and  set  out  for  it  with  all  the  speed  he  was 
master  of.  Remembering  Stony  Point,  he  had  all  the 
flints  knocked  out  of  the  muskets,  telling  his  men  to 
rely  solely  on  the  bayonet  and  sabre.  The  gallant 
little  band  pushed  rapidly  and  noiselessly  forward,  and 
reached  the  defile  at  midnight,  when  to  their  surprise 
they  found  the  enemy  already  entering  it.  It  was 
star-light,  and  Wayne  could  see  by  the  glittering  of 
the  bayonets  and  sabres,  that  he  was  outnumbered 
two  to  one ;  but  there  was  no  time  for  hesitation,  and 
instantly  ordering  the  charge,  he  poured  his  enthusi 
astic  troops  with  such  impetuosity  on  the  astonished 
column,  that  it  broke  and  fled. 

The  Creeks  heard  of  this  disaster,  but  it  did  not 
prevent  their  intrepid  chieftain  from  pressing  on. 
Leaving,  however,  the  open  country,  he  kept  to  the 
woods,  and  marched  so  warily  that  Wayne  could  get 
no  tidings  of  him.  Stealing  thus  cautiously  through  the 
swamps  and  forests,  he  at  length,  one  evening,  found 
himself  within  a  short  distance  of  Wayne's  camp. 
Waiting  till  all  were  wrapt  in  slumber,  these  stealthy 
warriors  crawled  up  to  the  sentinels,  and  dispatched 
them  so  silently  that  the  alarm  was  not  given.  They 
then  advanced  directly  upon  the  camp,  and  suddenly 
screaming  out  their  terrific  war-whoop,  rushed  to  the 
attack.  With  a  single  bound  they  swept  over  the 


SURPRISED     BY     THE     INDIANS.  335 

artillery,  driving  the  guard  in  affright  before  them, 
while  that  thrilling  war-cry  brought  every  sleeper  to 
his  feet.  The  men  rushed  for  their  arms,  but  all  was 
terror  and  confusion.  Wayne,  however,  whom  no 
terror  could  unbalance,  was  himself  in  a  moment,  and 
rallying  his  men  like  magic,  and  ordering  them  not  to 
fire,  neither  dragoons  nor  infantry,  but  trust  to  their 
swords  and  bayonets,  led  them  fiercely  against  the 
shouting  savages.  A  tall  chief  threw  himself  before  him, 
whom  he,  with  a  single  stroke  of  his  sword,  cut  to  the 
earth ;  but  the  undaunted  warrior  lifted  with  a  dying 
effort  his  rifle,  and  discharged  it  at  him.  The  gallant 
steed  sunk  dead  in  his  footsteps,  but  Wayne,  springing 
to  his  feet,  pressed  forward  on  foot  amid  his  men.  After 
a  short  conflict,  the  savages  were  routed,  and  fled,  leav 
ing  their  dead  chief  and  thirty  warriors  behind  them. 

In  this  conflict  Wayne  exhibited  that  wonderful 
presence  of  mind  which  distinguished  him  ;  for,  al 
though  the  surprise  was  complete,  he  was  not  stag 
gered  for  a  moment ;  and  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
panic  his  quick  mind  took  in  the  whole  extent  of  the 
danger,  and  planned  his  defence.  Being  now  close 
on  Savannah,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  attack  was 
designed  to  be  a  combined  one,  and  that  the  firing  of 
the  Indians  would  be  the  signal  of  a  sally  from  the  town. 
Instantly,  while  everything  was  in  confusion,  and  the 
midnight  was  blazing  with  musketry,  and  echoing  with 
the  war-whoop,  he  dispatched  a  company  to  fall  on  the 
English  pickets,  in  order  to  convey  the  impression  that 
he  had  won  the  battle,  and  was  ready  to  meet  them. 
A  short  time  after  this  the  British  evacuated  Savan 
nah,  and  Wayne  rejoined  Greene.  Peace  followed, 


336  \JOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

and  broken  down  in  health  by  his  long  exposure,  he 
returned  to  his  native  state,  and  was  elected  member 
of  the  legislature.  Georgia  made  him  a  grant  of 
land,  in  consideration  of  his  services  in  this  state,  but 
he  was  compelled  to  sell  it  in  order  to  relieve  his  em 
barrassed  finances.  Instead,  however,  of  effecting  this 
object,  he  lost  both  the  money  and  the  land. 

EXPEDITION    AGAINST    THE    INDIANS. 

He  continued  on  his  farm  till  called  by  Washington, 
in  1793,  to  take  the  field  against  the  Indians,  who  had 
for  years  continued  their  depredations  on  the  western 
frontier.     Two  expeditions  had  failed — the  one  under 
General  Harmar,  in  1791,  and  the  other  of  the  same 
year  under  St.  Clair — the  latter  ending  in  a  perfect 
rout  and  slaughter  of  the  American  army.     In   this 
dilemma,  Washington  looked  around  for  a  fit  officer  to 
take  charge  of  a  war  which  had  become  serious  in  its 
aspect.    His  eye  rested  on  Wayne,  who,  though  nearly 
fifty  years  of  age,  was  in  the  vigor  and  strength  of 
manhood.     Five  thousand  men  were  raised  and  placed 
under  him,  and  he  commenced  his  march  westward. 
Wintering  where   Cincinnati   now   stands,  he  in  the 
spring  took  the  field,  and  advancing  to  the  junction  of 
the  Au  Glaize  and  Miami,  erected  a  fort,  which  he 
called  Fort  Defiance.    Here  being  reinforced  by  eleven 
hundred  mounted  men  from    Kentucky,    he    marched 
forward  to  attack  the  enemy  in  their  position.     They 
had  chosen  a  spot  between  the  Miami  river  and  an  al 
most  impenetrable  thicket,   with  huge  piles   of  fallen 
trees  protecting  them  in  front.     Here  two  thousand 


DEFEATS     THE     INDIANS.  337 

warriors  waited  the  approach  of  the  Americans 
Moving  slowly  and  carefully  forward,  Wayne  at 
length  came  in  sight  of  them,  when  the  advance-guard 
was  suddenly  fired  on  from  a  low  thicket  of  grass  and 
shrubs.  He  immediately  ordered  a  halt,  and  forming 
his  troops  in  order  of  battle,  sent  the  mounted  men  to 
attack  the  Indians  in  flank.  While  the  fearless  horse 
men  were  slowly  working  their  way  through  the  thick 
ets  and  over  fallen  trees,  he  ordered  the  first  line  of  his 
legion  to  "  rouse  the  savages  from  their  lair  with  the 
point  of  the  bayonet,  and  when  up,  to  deliver  a  close 
and  well-directed  fire  in  their  backs."  With  levelled 
bayonets  the  intrepid  legion  moved  rapidly  upon  the 
thicket,  which  started  the  Indians  from  their  cover. 
But  no  sooner  did  they  rise  into  view,  than  such  a  de 
structive  volley  was  poured  upon  them,  that  they  were 
thrown  into  inextricable  confusion — and  before  the  other 
portions  of  the  army  could  come  to  its  assistance,  that 
single  line  had  stormed  over  everything,  sweeping  with 
loud  shouts  into  the  very  encampment  of  the  Indians, 
and  leaving  it  strewed  with  the  dead.  Only  a  little 
over  a  hundred  Americans  fell  in  this  fierce  encounter, 
which  was  so  murderous  and  terrific  to  the  Indians, 
that  they  could  not  rally  again,  and  their  whole  coun 
try  was  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword.  This  brought 
them  to  terms  and  ended  the  war.  Wayne,  on  his 
return  home,  was  everywhere  hailed  as  the  saviour  of 
his  country.  The  hero  of  Stony  Point,  who  had  led 
his  column  so  gloriously  on  the  enemy  at  Monmouth, 
and  fought  side  by  side  with  Washington  and  Lafay 
ette  through  the  Revolution,  was  by  this  victory  again 
brought  to  remembrance.  On  his  entrance  into  Phila- 
VOL.  i.  29 


838  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

delphia,  all  business  was  suspended,  as  on  some  great 
public  occasion — the  troops  of  the  city  marched  out 
with  flying  colors  and  welcoming  music  to  meet  him — 
the  artillery  thundered  forth  its  stern  applause,  all  the 
bells  were  set  a-ringing,  and  one  protracted  and  deaf 
ening  shout  from  the  assembled  people  followed  him 
as  he  rode  through  the  streets. 

After  this,  he  was  appointed  by  the  government 
commissioner  to  treat  with  the  Northwestern  Indians. 
Having  performed  the  arduous  task  assigned  him,  he 
started  to  return  home,  but  while  coming  down  Lake 
Erie  from  Detroit,  was  violently  attacked  with  the 
gout,  which  in  a  few  days  carried  him  off. 

He  now  lies  interred  in  his  native  place,  and  over 
his  remains  stands  a  monument  reared  by  his  brave 
companions  in  arms.  He  was  fifty-one  years  of  age 
when  he  died,  and  held  the  rank  of  Commander-m- 
Chief  of  the  American  army. 

HIS    CHARACTER. 

The  brilliant  qualities  of  Wayne  rendered  him  one 
of  the  most  popular  men  in  the  army.  In  person  he 
was  a  little  above  the  medium  height,  and  finely  pro 
portioned.  With  a  forehead  high  and  well  formed, 
nose  slightly  aquiline,  and  dark  hair,  and  dark,  fiery 
hazel  eyes,  his  countenance  was  distinguished  for  manly 
beauty.  His  chivalric  bearing  in  battle,  his  prompt 
ness,  decision,  and  headlong  courage,  and  blunt  famili 
arity  with  the  soldiers,  endeared  him  to  them,  and  they 
would  charge  beside  him  like  veterans.  When  men 
saw  his  column  in  motion,  they  knew  there  would  be 


HIS     CHARACTER.  339 

wild  work  before  it  returned.  Perhaps  the  most  strik 
ing  quality  of  his  character  was  self-possession.  One 
cannot  point  to  a  single  instance  in  his  life  where  it 
forsook  him.  It  seemed  impossible  to  surprise  him,  or 
come  upon  him  suddenly  enough  to  disturb  the  clear 
action  of  his  mind.  It  is  not  common  for  a  man  of 
his  impetuosity  to  possess  such  self-collectedness  in 
every  emergency.  Always  intensely  excited  in  battle, 
he  would  tear  like  a  madman  through  the  ranks ;  yet 
not  his  own  strong  feelings,  nor  the  smoke  and  car 
nage  and  confusion  through  which  he  moved,  nor  even 
the  disorder  of  an  utter  overthrow,  could  unsettle  his 
judgment.  His  feelings  are  as  steady  and  his  thoughts 
as  clear  when  struck  in  the  head  by  a  musket-ball  at 
Stony  Point,  or  suddenly  finding  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  whole  British  army  at  Green  Spring,  or  roused 
at  midnight  by  the  bayonet  of  the  English,  or  war- 
whoop  of  the  Indian,  as  when  commanding  a  battery 
on  an  open  field.  This  mastery  of  one's  self  in  the 
most  critical  situations,  is  one  of  the  chief  elements  of  a 
great  commander.  It  enables  him  to  correct  any  mis 
takes  of  his  own  army  at  once,  and  to  take  sudden  and 
terrible  advantage  of  those  made  by  the  enemy.  The 
most  skilful,  well-formed  plan  is  often  rendered  useless 
by  some  unexpected  turn  of  the  battle,  and  then  the 
rapid,  clear  thinker  wins.  The  tremendous  physical 
force  of  an  army  is  always  under  the  control  of  a  lead 
ing  mind ;  and  if,  while  in  such  terrific  action,  it  be 
comes  unsteady  or  ill-directed  through  foolish  or  con 
tradictory  orders,  all  is  lost.  Bonaparte  was  never 
confused,  and  Washington  never  lost  his  composure  in 
battle,  and  hence  were  so  hard  to  beat.  The  resources 


340  MAJOR     GENERAL     WAYNE. 

of  a  strong  and  steady  soul  are  almost  endless,  and  will 
bring  safety  out  of  despair  itself.  Wayne  had  all  this 
self-possession  in  the  midst  of  the  highest  excitement — 
indeed,  his  excitement  never  confused,  it  only  gave  mo 
mentum  to  his  actions.  His  courage  was  proverbial, 
and  made  his  soldiers  love  him.  They  knew  he  would 
lead  wherever  he  would  ask  them  to  follow,  and  shar 
ing  all  their  dangers,  he  shared  also  their  affections. 
His  was  one  of  those  stormy  natures  that  delight  in 
dangers,  and  find  their  appropriate  life  in  scenes  of  great 
action  and  excitement.  This  perhaps  amounted  to  a 
fault  in  him,  for,  Csesar-like,  he  could  never  refuse  an 
offered  battle,  whatever  the  terms  might  be.  He 
seemed  to  look  upon  it  as  a  privilege  he  might  not 
soon  enjoy  again,  and  hence  was  inclined  to  take  the 
best  advantage  of  it  he  could  :  still  there  was  nothing 
ferocious  in  his  character,  and  none  of  those  sordid 
qualities  which  so  often  dim  the  lustre  of  a  great  war 
rior.  Generous,  frank,  and  cordial,  he  loved  two  things 
supremely — his  country  and  glory.  For  these  he  would 
undergo  any  toil,  submit  to  any  privation,  and  risk  any 
death.  He  fought  nobly,  maintained  his  honor  untar 
nished  to  the  last,  and  stands  in  the  front  rank  of  the 
defenders  of  their  country. 


X. 


MAJOR   GENERALS    CONWAY   AND 
MIFFLIN. 

THE  CONWAY  CABAL — Duel  between  Conway  and  Cadwalader — Let 
ter  of  the  former  to  Washington — Mifflin's  career  and  Character. 

THESE  names  are  associated  together,  because  they 
were  the  chief  conspirators  against  Washington  in  that 
mad  attempt  to  put  Gates  in  his  place,  as  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  American  army.  The  real  cause  of  this 
conspiracy  originated  in  selfish,  ambitious  schemes, 
which  gathered  into  their  vortex  all  the  disaffection, 
and  personal  pique,  and  envy  of  the  land.  The  hos 
tility  of  Gates  dates  back  to  the  commencement  of  the 
war.  Appointed  by  Congress  adjutant-general,  with 
the  rank  of  brigadier,  he  requested  Washington  to 
give  him  the  command  of  a  brigade,  which  the  latter 
refused  to  do  on  grounds  which  would  have  been  per 
fectly  satisfactory  to  an  honorable  mind.  His  over 
weening  vanity,  however,  took  umbrage  at  it,  or  what 
is  probably  nearer  the  truth,  he  was  offended,  at  the 
outset,  because  he  himself  had  not  received  a  higher 
grade :  and  so  he  asked  immediately  after  the  army 
left  Cambridge,  to  be  employed  at  a  distance  from  the 
commander-in-chief.  Being  stationed  at  Ticonderoga, 
he  gave  vent  to  his  spleen  by  neglecting  to  communi- 

29* 


342  MAJOR     GENERA],     CON  WAY. 

cate  his  actions  to  Washington,  or  doing  it  in  a  manner 
that  bordered  on  insult.  Mifflin  was  appointed  aid  to 
the  commander-in-chief,  at  first  with  the  rank  of  colo 
nel — and,  at  the  same  time  that  Gates  asked  for  a 
brigade,  petitioned  for  a  regiment.  Meeting  with  the 
same  refusal,  he  seemed  to  make  common  cause  with 
the  former,  and  was  his  right-hand  man  in  his  nefarious 
attempts  to  disgrace  Washington. 

THOMAS  CONWAY  was  by  birth  an  Irishman,  but  went 
with  his  parents,  when  but  six  years  of  age,  to  France, 
where  he  was  educated  to  the  profession  of  arms.  He 
had  seen  a  good  deal  of  service,  and  had  a  high  military 
reputation,  so  that  when  he  came  to  this  country  in 
1777,  fortified  with  the  highest  recommendations,  Con 
gress  immediately  appointed  him  brigadier-general. 
Arrogant,  boastful,  and  selfish,  he  was  especially  re 
pugnant  to  Washington.  With  his  deep  insight,  he 
penetrated  the  hollow  character  at  once,  and  both  dis 
liked  and  distrusted  him.  He  considered  him  an  un 
safe  man,  who  would  use  whatever  power  he  might 
be  intrusted  with  for  the  purpose  of  self-aggrandize 
ment  ;  and  when  he  heard  that  Congress  thought  of 
promoting  him,  wrote  a  strong  remonstrance  against 
it,  giving  frankly  and  boldly  his  reasons.  Conway  saw 
that  he  was  understood,  and  angry  with  the  virtue 
he  could  not  endure,  commenced  plotting  against  it. 
In  a  short  time  the  plan  began  to  assume  a  definite 
form;  and  he,  and  Mifflin,  and  Gates  controlled  the 
whole  affair.  They  succeeded  in  gaining  over  a  part 
of  Congress,  and  hence  a  faction  was  formed  in  that 
body  as  destitute  of  patriotism  as  it  was  of  real  ability. 
The  victory  of  Saratoga  seemed  to  ripen  matters  fast, 


IS     SHOT     IN     A     DUEL.  343 

and  the  conspirators  began  to  act  more  boldly.  Wil 
kinson,  aid-de-camp  of  Gates,  who  evidently  had  been 
let  into  the  secret  more  than  he  ever  confessed,  im 
prudently  divulged  the  scheme  to  a.  man  whose  patriot 
ism  was  above  the  plague-spot  of  selfish  ambition. 
While  on  his  way  to  Congress  with  dispatches  con 
taining  an  account  of  the  capitulation  of  Burgoyne,  he 
stopped  at  the  head-quarters  of  Lord  Stirling,  then  at 
Reading,  and  mentioned  to  him  in  confidence  a  letter 
he  had  seen  from  Con  way  to  Gates,  in  which  Wash 
ington  was  spoken  of  disparagingly,  and  stigmatized 
as  a  "  weak  general."  Whether  this  was  done  on  pur 
pose  to  sound  Stirling,  or  not,  does  not  appear — at 
all  events,  the  latter,  a  firm  and  devoted  friend  of  the 
commander-in-chief,  immediately  communicated  to  him 
what  Wilkinson  had  told  him.  This  originated  a  cor 
respondence  between  Washington,  Gates,  and  Conway, 
which  blew  up  the  whole  affair.  Gates,  in  order  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  difficulty,  implied  that  Wil 
kinson  had  forged  the  extract  he  pretended  to  give, 
which  induced  a  challenge  from  the  latter.  Gates 
accepted  it,  and  then  withdrew,  as  stated  in  the  sketch 
of  him.  Conway  had  taken  every  means,  both  secretly 
and  openly,  to  injure  Washington,  and  descended  even 
to  anonymous  letters,  containing  aspersions  and  false 
hoods,  which  showed  him  lost  to  all  integrity  and  vir 
tue.  His  conduct  was  so  infamous,  that  at  length  Gen 
eral  Cadwalader,  a  brave  and  noble  man,  and  devoted 
friend  of  Washington,  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
challenged  him.  By  the  terms  agreed  upon,  they  were 
to  fire  as  soon  or  as  late  after  the  word  was  given  as 
they  chose.  "  Conway  fired  almost  immediately,  but 


344  MAJOR     GENERAL     CONWAY. 

with  the  greatest  deliberation,  but  missed  his  aim. 
Cadwalader  then  raised  his  pistol,  but  just  as  he  was  in 
the  act  to  fire,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  swept  by,  when 
he  immediately  dropped  his  arm.  '  Why  do  you  not 
fire,  General  Cadwalader?'  exclaimed  Con  way.  'Be 
cause,'  he  replied,  '  we  came  not  here  to  trifle.  Let 
the  gale  pass,  and  I  shall  act  my  part.'  «  You  shall 
have  a  fair  chance  of  performing  it  well,'  rejoined  Con- 
way,  and  immediately  presented  a  full  front.  General 
Cadwalader  fired,  and  his  ball  entering  the  mouth  of 
his  antagonist,  he  fell  directly  forward  on  his  face.  His 
second  running  to  his  assistance,  found  the  blood  spout 
ing  from  behind  his  neck,  and  lifting  up  his  hair,  he 
saw  the  ball  drop  from  it.  It  had  passed  through  his 
head,  greatly  to  the  derangement  of  his  tongue  and 
teeth,  but  not  inflicting  a  mortal  wound.  As  soon  as 
the  blood  was  sufficiently  washed  away  to  allow  him 
to  speak,  he  turned  to  his  opponent  and  said  good- 
humoredly,  '  You  fire,  general,  with  much  deliberation, 
and  certainly  with  a  great  deal  of  effect.'  "* 

The  miserable  man,  however,  thought  soon  after  that 
he  could  not  recover,  and  remorse  awakening  as  the 
retributions  of  the  next  world  rose  before  him,  he 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  Washington  : 

Philadelphia,  Feb.  23,  1778. 

Sir :— 1  find  myself  just  able  to  hold  my  pen  during 
a  few  minutes,  and  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing 
my  sincere  grief  for  having  done,  written,  or  said  any 
thing  disagreeable  to  your  excellency.  My  career 
will  soon  be  over ;  therefore,  justice  and  truth  prompt 
*  Anecdotes  of  the  Revolutionary  War. 


RETURNS     TO     FRANCE.  345 

me  to  declare  my  last  sentiments.  You  are,  in  my  eyes, 
the  great  and  good  man.  May  you  long  enjoy  the  love, 
esteem,  and  veneration  of  these  states,  whose  liberties 
you  have  asserted  by  your  virtues. 

"I  am,  with  great  respect,  your  excellency's  most 
obedient  and  humble  servant, 

"Tns.  CONWAY." 

He  finally  recovered,  but  this  finished  his  career  in 
this  country,  and  he  returned  to  France.  When  he 
was  about  to  depart,  Gates,  with  that  effrontery  which 
is  characteristic  of  a  weak,  vain  man,  endeavored  to 
prevail  on  Congress  to  send  him  home  with  honor ;  de 
claring  that  we  ought  not  to  let  a  brave  and  gallant 
officer,  who  had  fought  our  battles,  leave  us  without 
some  public  testimony  to  the  value  of  his  services.  In 
the  full  tide  of  their  success,  these  two  men  had  been 
associated  together  in  the  Board  of  War,  created  on 
purpose  to  cripple  Washington.  Con  way  had  been  ap 
pointed  inspector-general,  with  the  rank  of  major-gene 
ral,  but  he  never  acted  in  either  capacity  in  the  army. 
He  was  a  brave  man  and  a  good  officer,  but  utterly 
selfish  and  reckless.  He  came  to  this  country  as  an 
adventurer,  ripe  for  any  scheme  that  would  tend  to  his 
own  aggrandizement,  and  he  sunk  into  that  disgrace  he 
so  richly  merited. 

THOMAS  MIFFLIN  was  born  in  1744,  of  Quaker  pa 
rents.  He  took  a  zealous  part  with  the  colonies  against 
the  mother  country  ;  and  when  Congress  made  out  the 
list  of  officers  for  the  continental  army,  he  was  ap 
pointed  quartermaster-general.  He  acted  as  aid  to 
Washington,  as  mentioned  above,  but  soon  exhibited 


346  MAJOR     GENERAL     MIFFLIN. 

feelings  of  hostility  to  him.  With  the  commencement 
of  his  military  career  ended,  of  course,  his  Quaker  pro 
fessions,  and  he  was  read  out  of  the  society.  He  en 
tered  soul  and  heart  into  the  contest,  and  rendered  im 
portant  service  in  arousing  the  Pennsylvania  militia. 
He  was  appointed  inspector-general  of  the  army,  but 
performed  his  duties  so  slackly  that  he  was  superseded 
by  Greene,  who  soon  wrought  a  change  in  the  depart 
ment.  He  was  in  very  little  active  service,  and  the 
part  he  took  in  the  "  Con  way  Cabal,"  cast  a  shadow  on 
his  patriotism  which  no  after  effort  could  wholly  re 
store.  In  1787  he  was  a  member  of  the  convention 
which  framed  the  constitution  of  the  United  States,  and 
in  1788  succeeded  Franklin  as  president  of  the  Su 
preme  Executive  Council  of  Pennsylvania,  and  was 
elected  the  first  governor  of  the  state.  In  1794  he 
made  extraordinary  exertions  to  quell  the  insurrection 
in  Pennsylvania;  and  by  his  harangues  and  appeals 
compensated  for  the  defective  laws,  and  performed  a 
noble  and  patriotic  work.  He  died  at  Lancaster,  Jan 
uary  20th,  1800,  aged  fifty-seven  years.  Of  sanguine 
temperament,  vain,  and  ambitious,  he  seemed  to  prefer 
the  tortuous  course  of  the  politician  to  the  lofty  and 
self-sacrificing  service  of  a  warrior,  or  the  true  dignity 
of  the  statesman.  He  did  the  country  great  service, 
but  as  one  of  those  who  came  very  near  doing  it  a 
great  wrong,  he  cannot  rank  high  in  our  estimation,  or 
command  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  his  distin 
guished  compatriots. 


XL 


MAJOR  GENERALS  WARD  AND 
HEATH. 

ARTEMAS  WARD  was  born  in  1727,  and  graduated  at 
Harvard  College  in  1748.  He  saw  some  service  in  the 
French  and  Indian  war,  and  after  its  close  was  elected 
member  of  the  Massachusetts  legislature,  and  after 
wards  member  of  the  common  council.  At  the  com 
mencement  of  the  Revolution  he  was  judge  of  the  court 
of  common  pleas,  for  Worcester  county.  In  the  list  of 
major-generals  made  out  by  Congress,  Ward  stood 
next  to  Washington,  and  was  placed  by  him  over  the 
right  wing  of  the  army  at  Roxbury,  during  the  siege 
of  Boston ;  the  next  spring,  however,  he  resigned  his 
commission,  and  retired  to  private  life. 

After  a  long  decline,  he  died  at  Shrewsbury,  Oct. 
28th,  1800,  aged  seventy-three.  He  was  a  man  of  in 
corruptible  integrity,  and  a  true  Christian.  His  ser 
vice  in  the  army  was  of  short  duration,  and  hence,  as  I 
have  to  do  exclusively  with  the  military  history  of  the 
Revolution,  I  only  mention  him  to  make  the  list  of 
major-generals  complete. 

WILLIAM  HEATH  was  born  in  Roxbury,  Massachu 
setts,  1737,  and  grew  up  on  the  ancestral  farm.  He 
early  espoused  the  cause  of  the  colonies,  and  in  1770 


348  MAJOR     GENERAL     HEATH. 

wrote  addresses  to  the  public,  urging  the  necessity  of 
military  discipline.  He  at  the  same  time  organized 
companies  of  militia  and  minute-men,  and  when  the  war 
opened  in  1775,  he  was  appointed  by  Congress  briga 
dier-general.  He  accompanied  the  army  to  New  York, 
and  commanded  in  the  Highlands  while  Washington 
was  making  his  memorable  retreat  through  the  Jerseys. 
During  1777  and  1778,  he  had  charge  of  the  eastern 
department,  with  his  head-quarters  at  Boston.  While 
here  he  had  to  superintend  Burgoyne's  captured  army 
quartered  at  Cambridge.  This  was  no  easy  or  plea 
sant  task,  and  frequent  collisions  took  place  between 
him  and  the  English  officers.  Heath,  however,  would 
not  abate  a  jot  from  his  duties,  and,  on  one  occasion, 
revoked  the  parole  of  Gen.  Phillips,  on  account  of  im 
proper  language  used  by  the  latter  against  Congress. 
In  1779  he  was  elected  Commissioner  of  the  Board  of 
War,  but  declined  the  appointment,  preferring  to  serve 
in  the  field.  In  1780  he  was  sent  to  Rhode  Island  to 
make  arrangements  for  the  French  fleet  and  army,  ex 
pected  soon  to  arrive.  During  the  siege  of  Yorktown 
he  commanded  the  army  posted  in  the  Highlands. 
After  the  war  he  retired  to  private  life,  and  died  at 
Roxbury,  January  24th,  1814,  seventy-seven  years  of 
age. 


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NAPOLEON   AND    HIS  MARSHALS,  ( 

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i 

"  The  brilliant  pen  of  our  friend  and  correspondent  has  been  tasked  ? 

for  its  highest  and  happiest  efforts  in  these  descriptions  of  men  and  ' 

scenes  whose  names  are  illustrious  in  the  annals  of  history.     The  de-  ( 

fence  of  Napoleon  in  the  first  volume  has  not  been  successfully  im-  > 

peached  by  the  critics,  and  we  are  pleased  with  the  evidence  that  Mr.  ; 

Headley  observes  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher,  while  poetry  distils  as  v' 
the  dew  from  his  flowing  pen." — N.  Y.  Observer. 

11  Mr.  Headley's  peculiarities  as  an  author  are  universally  known.     He  j 

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cially  graphic  and  powerful  in  narratives  of  exciting  events.     In  battle  !• 

scenes  he  has  succeeded  better  than  any  other  writer  of  the  day ;  and  he  / 

has  therefore  very  wisely  given  the  most  of  his  etforts  to  this  class  of  ', 

writings.     No  one  can  fail  to  get  from  his  descriptions,  most  graphic,  ', 

^    vivid  and  lasting  impressions  of  the  scenes  of  which  he  speaks.  / 

c       The  two  volumes  in  which  Mr.  Headley  has  sketched  the  lives,  charac-  <• 

f.   ters,  and  leading  exploits  of  Napoleon  and  the  band  of  unrivalled  war-  I 

>  riors  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  are  among  the  most  readable  recently  ( 

>  issued  from  the  press,  and  in  the   spirit  of  interest  they  arouse  in  the  > 
f   great  events  with  which  they  are  connected,  will  be  found  a  source  of  .' 
\  great  profit  as  well  as  pleasure  and  interest.     They  are  very  handsomely  ' 

printed,  and  contain  a  number  of  very  fine  outline  portraits  of  the  most  • 
)  prominent  characters.  T  he  work  will  form  a  valuable  accession  to  every  ^ 
'  public  and  private  library." — N.  Y  Courier  #  Enquirer. 

"  Mr.  Headley  is  a  clear  and  powerful  writer,  and  seems  to  catch  more  > 

,  and  more  of  the  spirit  of  enthusiasm  as  he  advances  in  his  work.     There 

'.  is  no  slacking  of  energy  or  abatement  of  interest  to  the  very  last ;    and  ', 

>  you  arise  from  the  perusal  of  the  volumes,  with  new  and  more  reasonable  •, 
?  views  of  the  life  arid  character  of  Napoleon,  and  with  greater  admira-  , 
\  tion  of  his  brave  Marshals,  than  you  had  ever  been  able  to  gather  , 
)  from  the  one-eyed  writings  of  prejudiced  Englishmen." — Albany  Spec-  ) 
}  tutor. 

?  "  With  a  subject  ever  the  same  in  its  general  features,  the  Author  has  ) 

;  accomplished  the  difficult  task  of  giving  individuality  to  the  different  I 

S  battle  scenes,  and  each  Chieftain  is  marked  by  characteristics  which  N 

?  distinguish  him  from  his  fellows.     No  one  can  read  these  terrific  de-  > 

scriptions  without  being  greatly  moved  and  feeling  more  deeply  than  > 

^  ever  the  horrors  and  misery  of  war.     Alison  has  obtained  a  great  reputa-  ) 

s  tion  as  a  painter  of  battles,  but  it  seems  to  us  that  he  is  really  surpassed  f 

)  by  Headley.     As  an  American  writer  with  an  American  heart,  we  com-  < 

.  mend  him  to  the  Western  public." — Cincinnati  Paper. 

"  A  spirit  stirring,  trumpet-toned  description  of  the  most  distinguished  s 

(  men  and  scenes  of  this  interesting  portion  of  modern  history,  when  > 

;  written  by  one  of  the  most  accomplished  descriptive  writers  of  the  age,  > 

11  will  form  a  valuable  addition  to  any  library.     In  describing  battle  scenes  f 

'  and  military  exploits.  Mr  H.  has  succeeded  better  than  any  writer  of  J 

)  the  day  ;  and  no  one  can  read  this  work  without  carrying  away  with  him  '. 

?  a  clear  and  lasting  impression — a  sort  of  Daguerreotype  of  the  brilliant  , 

^  scenes  and  passages  at  arms,  which  he  has  attempted  to  portray." — New 

)  Haven  Herald. 

"  The  fifth  edition  of  this  work  is  before  us.     Mr.  Headley  is  a  brll-    > 
'    liant  writer,  and  sustains  his  high  reputation  in  the  graphic  biographies 
?    of  th»  '  Great  Captain '  and  his  illustrious   Marshals.     It  is  almost  too    ' 


i  late  for  us  to  say  a  word  in  commendation  of  these  volumes  ;  we  only  say 
that  if  yet  unread  by  any  who  desire  a  liberal  view  of  the  character  and 
course  of  Napoleon,  there  is  a  delightful  entertainment  before  them  of 
which  they  should  partake  as  soon  as  possible.  They  are  amongst  the 
most  interesting  volumes  we  have  ever  read." — N.  J.  Journal. 

"  This  work  has  placed  Mr.  Headley  in  a  high  rank  as  a  strong  and 
clear  writer,  and  a  sound  thinker.  His  accounts  of  Napoleon  and  his 
Officers  seem  to  us  to  be  the-  most  faithful  ever  yet  written ;  and  his 
descriptions  of  various  battles  and  exciting  events  are  remarkably 
graphic,  glowing  and  picturesque.  Mr.  Headley  is  a  talented  man ;  and 
we  place  implicit  confidence  in  his  opinion,  at  the  same  time  that  we 
admire  his  style." — Cincinnati  Chronde. 

"  Indeed  the  work  is  one  of  remarkable  power,  and  will  add  much  to 
the  already  well  earned  reputation  of  the  author.  It  is  written  in  a 
brilliant  and  animated  style ;  and  the  reader  ceases  to  be  a  critic  in  ad 
miration  of  the  splendid  achievements  of  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals — 
so  graphically  and  vividly  portrayed,  that  each  sentence  seems  a  picture; 
and  the  whole  book  but  a  magnificent  panorama  of  the  battle-fields  of 
Marensio,  Austerlitz,  Waterloo,  etc. 

"NcT author,  observes  a  contemporary,  has  a  quicker  appreciation  of 
the  prominent  points  in  the  character  he  is  describing,  or  a  happier 
faculty  of  setting  them  before  his  readers  than  Mr.  Headley.  His 
sketch  of  Napoleon,  we  will  venture  to  say,  gives  a  better  defined  and 
truer  idea  of  '  the  Man  of  Destiny.'  than  any  biography  in  the  language. 
It  relieves  Napoleon  from  the  misrepresentations  of  English  writers, 
and  shows  that  for  the  long  and  bloody  wars  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
E  jgland  was  directly  responsible." — Cincinnati  Atlas. 

"  We  commend  this  work  to  our  readers  as  one  of  unusual  interest, 
written  with  force  rather  than  elegance— with  honest  warmth,  rather 
than  cold  discrimination.  The  pictures  which  it  contains  are  drawn 
with  masculine  and  startling  vigor,  and  although  pretending  to  be  de- 
<  scriptive  of  individuals,  are  connected  with  vivid  accounts  of  the  glorious 
campaigns  in  which  they  were  the  actors."— Pennsylvanian. 

"The  abiity  and  graphic  power  which  Mr.  Headley  has  evinced  in 
these  delineations,  will  not  only  not  be  questioned,  but  place  him  in  the 
first  rank  of  descriptive  writers.  Whether  the  same  deference  will  be 
paid  to  the  soundness  of  his  reasoning,  or  the  justness  of  his  views,  is 
doubtful.  His  ardent  love  of  freedom,  and  his  generous  appreciation  of, 
and  sympathy  with,  whatever  is  noble  in  character  or  action,  give  a 
charm  to  these  volumes  and  invest  them  with  a  good  moral  influence. 
The  reader  will  not  only  find  interest  and  excitement,  and  considerable 
additions  to  the  minuteness  and  accuracy  of  his  historical  knowledge, 
but  many  of  the  most  elevated  sentiments,  in  the  perusal  of  the  work. 
It  is  finely  executed,  and  embellished  with  spirited  etchings  on  steel."— 
N.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  We  speak  of  these  volumes  with  great  pleasure,  because  we  have  not 
of  late  met  with  a  work  so  instructive,  which  has  been  so  entertaining.— 
The  sketches  are  but  sketches,  but  with  the  skilful  hand  of  a  painter, 
the  author  has  presented  the  most  prominent  traits  in  the  character  of 
each  of  his  subjects  so  forcibly,  that  the  man  stands  boldly  forth  on  the 
page,  and  you  seem  almost  to  be  the  companion  of  the  gallant  heroes  who 
surrounded  the  '  Man  of  Destiny.' 

"  We  cannot  undertake  to  condense  these  sketches,  or  extract  portions 
for  our  columns  They  should  be  read,  and  wherever  they  are  known 
they  will  be  read.  As  we  have  turned  the  last  leaf  upon  each  of  the 
Marshals,  we  have  thought  each  picture  more  vivid  and  beautiful  than 
the  last  and  we  closed  the  volumes  with  regret,  that  the  pleasures  we 
had  enjoyed,  could  not  again  return  with  their  original  freshness. 


IT 

)       "  If  you  love  vivid  pictures  by  a  master  hand,  if  3'ou  would  feel  the  < 

blood  curdle  in  your  veins  as  you  read  of  maddening  charge,  and  terrible  <, 

assault ;  seek  these  volumes,  peruse  them  carefully,  and  you  will  not  ") 

close  them  without  musing  in  silent  admiration  of  the  mighty  genius  <> 

whose  pomp  and  power  blazed  like  a  meteor  on  the  world,  and  sunk  in  the  <> 
battle  of  Waterloo."— Providence   Transcript. 

!>  "  The  book  is  splendidly  written.  A  seeming  effort  at  fine  writing  has  ' 
)  been  considered,  by  many,  a  fault  of  Mr.  Headley's  style.  We  think  ; 
$  Buch  do  not  take  sufficiently  into  consideration  the  subjects  upon  which  S 

>  he  writes.     That  style  of  writing  is  always  the  best,  that  enables  the   > 

>  reader  to  see  most  clearly  what  passes  in  the  mind  of  the  writer,  which   ( 
serves  to  transfer  to  the  mental  canvass  of  the  reader,  the  exact  image  > 
of  the  picture  upon  the  writer's  mind.    If  this  is  any  test  of  good  wri-  < 
ting,  no  one  who  reads  the  work  before  us.  will  for  a  moment  doubt  that   f 
it  is  well  written.    Aside  from  the  sketch  of  the  character  of  Napoleon,   ', 
the  work  is  made  up  of  comparative  short  sketches  of  Napoleon's  Mar-   !> 
shals.    Of  course,  a  great  part  of  it  must,  of  necessity,  be  a  description   / 
of  the  movements  of  armies,  either  in  the  bloody  splendors  of  the  field    ^ 
of  death,  or  in  marches/?-om  one.  such  field  to  another.     His  language  in    '", 
these  descriptions  is  always  graphic,  frequently  brilliant  and  dazzling,   ? 
and  sometimes  even  gorgeous,  but  perhaps  none  too  much  so  to  impress   <[ 
with  vividness  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader,  the  scenes  he  describes.    ^ 
What  other  language  could  be  properly  used,  in  picturing  the  history   ^ 
of  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals  ?    But  the  reality  of  the  scenes  described,   <, 

i  will  not  only  be  vividly  impressed  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader,  but  it  S 
(  will  be  written  there  with  a  pen  of  iron— they  cannot  be  forgotten," —  J 
)  Elyria  Courier. 

"  The  character  of  Napoleon  is  not  understood,  nor  his  virtues  acknow-  '• 
ledged,  from  the  fact  that  his  name  has  been  presented  in  almost  every  <, 
family  and  school  to  illustrate  the  ill  effects  of  ambition.  The  enemies  . 
of  this  great  man  have  invariably  misrepresented  him,  and  the  pages  of  > 
English  history  have  abounded  with  so  many  denunciations  of  his  career  ? 
that  the  youth  of  our  country  could  not  avoid  receiving  erroneous  im 
pressions  in  regard  to  his  achievements,  the  motives  which  impelled  him  , 
to  action,  and  the  exigencies  into  which  he  was  placed. 

"  Mr.  Headley  has  wisely  studied  the  character  of  Bonaparte,  the  spirit  ^ 

of  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  and  the  great  destiny  to  be  wrought  out,  } 

by  the  thrilling  incidents  of  his  life,  and  has  illustrated  each  by  a  faith-  < 

ful  biography  of  the  Marshals  who  were  participators  in  these  memorable  < 

scenes. — We  are  fully  impressed  with  the  correctness  of  the  positions  as-  ' 

sumed,  and  join  with  all  who  have  read  these  volumes  in  expressing  our  ' 

admiration  of  the  graphic  and  entertaining  style  in  which  the  author  has  s 

presented  his  opinions,  and  described  events  of  the  most  interesting  ^ 
character. 

"  No  Library  can  be  considered  complete  without  a  copy  of  Napoleon  ^ 
and  his  Marshals." — Teachers  Advocate,  Syracuse. 

"  Mr.  Headley  is  truly  eloquent  in  his  description  of  character.     He   J 
presents  to  you  the  strong  points  of  the  man  with  a  clearness  that   < 
seems  to  place  him  before  you  as  an  old  acquaintance.    But  he  excels    £ 
most  in  his  description  of  the  battle-field,  and  it  is  this  that  has  subjected 
the  Reverend  gentleman  to  much  criticism.     But  could  he  otherwise    \ 
give  you  a  proper  idea  of  the  characters  of  which  he  writes?    To  know   S 
McDonald  v;e  must  see  him  as  he  stands  at  the  head  of  his  columns  at    ; 
Wagram.     To  know  Davoust,  go  with  him  to  the  field  of  Auerstadt.  and    ' 
follow  him  amid  the  horrors  of  the  retreat  from   Russia.     It  was  amid 
blood  and  carnage  that  these  men  lived,  and  it  is  only  by  seeing  them 
there  that  we  can  get  a  correct  idea  of  their  character. 

"  We  like  Mr.  Headley's  book,  for  it  gives  us  portraits  of  great  men. 


vr 

?    We  may  read  them,  and  imitate  that  which  is  good  and  reject  that  which    c, 
v    is  not  worthy  of  imitation." — Cleveland  Herald,  b 

"  Mr.  Headley  has  led  us  away  captive  by  his  descriptions  of  these  < 

'i   brave  men.     It,  is  almost  the  best  written  book  that  ever  came  into  our  ^ 

'    hands,  and  must  stamp  its  author  as  one  of  the  best  writers  of  our  { 

'.   country.'1 — Madison  Advocate,  Wisconsin.  !> 

"  A  more  interesting  book  cannot  be  found  in  the  language,  than  5 
t  '  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals."  An  American  history  of  Bonaparte— of  > 
'.  the  mighty  spirits  he  gathered  around  him— and  of  the  wars  he  carried  I 
v  on,  cannot  fail  of  enlisting  the  attention  of  the  American  reader." —  ) 
',  La  Fayette  Courier,  Indiana. 

<  "  The  author  has  treated  his  splendid  subject  most  felicitously,  his  / 

eloquent  pages  shed  new  lustre  upon  the  reputation  of  the  '  child  of  \ 

\  destiny'  and  his  brave  lieutenants,  while  his  estimates  of  character  will  i 

be  cordially  approved  by  the  masses  everywhere.  He  has  won  a  high  ? 

•  place  among  American  writers,  and  we  trust  he  will  not  be  content  to  Q 

•  rest  upon  his  laurels." — Detroit  Free  Press.       , 

'•'  Mr.  Headley  has  great  descriptive  talent,  as  this  work  thoroughly  at-   > 
^    tests.     The  characters  of  the  Great  Captain  and  his  aids  are  drawn  by   £ 
t'   just  enough  strokes  of  the  pen.  with  great  clearness  and  vigor.    In  a  ^ 
'    gallery  of  military  portraits  there  must  be  a  similarity  which  will  seem 
<,    like  sameness  in  the  narratives,  as  even  the   Iliad  will  attest,  and  this 
(   work  does  not  escape  it ;  but  we  know  no  living  man  who  could  have 
•>   done  better.    We  doubt  that  either  Thiers  or  Alison  could   have  given 
better  sketches  of  these  heroes  in  like  space.'' — New  YorA   Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Headley  may  be  emphatically  termed  a  brilliant  writer.    His 

')  description  of  the  fierce  and  romantic  fights  of  the  lieutenants  of  Na- 

\  poleon  knows  no  bounds.    We  take  in  through  the  eye  the  scenes  of 

'  conflict  themselves.    We  see  the  charge  of  Macdonald  at  Wagram,  of 

',  Davoust  at  Auerstadt,  and  Lannes  at  Aspern.    We  behold,  as  it  were, 

,  the  death  of  Desaix  in  the  moment  of  victory,  Augereau  on  the  heights 

(  of  Castiglione,  and  Soult  on  the  hills  of  Pratzen.    The  only  thing  we 

{  find  fault  with  Mr.  Headley  for,  is  the  over-brilliancy  of  his  descriptions ; 

)  they  are  sometimes  too  dazzling.     Yet  with  the  majority  of  readers  this 

/  will  be  no  fault,  but  rather  an  attraction.     He  is  an  ardent  admirer  of 

/  Napoleon,  worshipping  him  with  almost  a  poetical  fervor,  and  had  he 

'  been  a  follower  of  the  'great  soldier'  in  the  days  of  his  glory,  he  would 

/  have  loved  him  with  adoration.     Mr.  Headley  has  evidently  studied  Na- 

'  poleon's  chief  soldiers,  and  like  Livy,  the  Roman  historian,  he  takes  the 

)  privilege  of  putting  words  into  the  mouths  of  the  men  whose  deeds  he 

,  records,  in  most  cases  on  the  field  of  battle.    We  do  not  find  fault  with 

,  this,  on  the  contrary,  but  few  historians  know  how  to  do  the  thing  so 

,  well,  and  yet  preserve  the  probability." — The  Island  City. 

"  Napoleon  has  been  the  theme  of  the  ablest  pens  of  both  continents  <^ 

;  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  but  this  is  the  first  work  that  has  s 

,  met  our  observation,  in  which,  if  we  may  so  speak,  Napoleon  has  been  > 

>  thoroughly  Americanized.    Mr.  Headley  has  written  the  work  with  true  ^ 

'•,  American  feelings  and  principles.     He  gives  Napoleon  his  true  position,  <; 

S  as  fighting  the  great  battle  of  the  People  against  Legitimacy. 

S  We  recommend  these  volumes,  especially  to  all  who  have  youth  under  i> 

•.  their  charge.    It  will  do  more  than  any  work  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  , 

(  to  incite  a  love  for  historical  investigation;  while  it  will  furnish  them  S 

(  with  a  key  to  a  proper  understanding  of  European  history,  for  the  '^ 

y  nineteenth  century.7' — Onondaga  Democrat,  Syracuse.  ( 

)       '•'  No  work  has  been  issued  from  the  press,  for  several  years  past,  that   ) 

(    has  been  received  with  such  general  approbation  and  success.    As  a  proof   < 

of  its  popularity  it  is  only  necessary  to  state  the  fact  that  in  the  short    ( 


?  space  of  five  months  it  has  undergone  as  many  edition,');  and  if  we  may 
(  judge  by  the  continued  demand,  it  is  likely  to  go  through  as  many 
»  more,  Mr.  Headley  possesses  a  thrilling  power  of  description,  and  al- 
>  though,  in  giving  the  history  of  the  several  Marshals,  he  has  necessarily 
(  to  go  over  the  same  battles  frequently,  the  interest  of  the  reader  never 
(  flags ;  but  is  sustained  by  the  ever  varying  genius  of  the  Author."— 
<J  Columbia  S.  C.  Chronicle.  ) 

?       "  This  is    a  work  of   two  volumes.      They  comprise  biographical  ;. 
sketches  of  Napoleon  and  twenty-three  of  his  Marshals,  and  are  adorned 

with  twelve  engravings  of  the   great  conqueror  and  the  more  distin-  ^ 
guished  of  his  associates  in  arms. 

"  To  Mr.  Headley  must  be  awarded  the  merit  of  having  concentrated,  s 

almost  within  a  single  glance,  the  striking  peculiarities  of  these  distin-  ^ 

guished  men.     He  has  given  sketches  of  the  lives  of  the  grand  Marshals  \ 

of  the  French  Empire,  together  with  descriptions  of  the  principal  actions  , 

in  which  they  were  engaged.    The  bold  and  vigorous  style  of  Mr.  Head-  , 

ley,  as  a  writer,  render  his  accounts  of  these  military  encounters  particu-  . 

larly  attractive.    The  ^ader  almost  imagines  himself  upon  the  battle  $ 

field  amid  the  clash  of  charging  columns  and  the  roar  of  artillery.    He  ( 

pictures  with  vividness  the  hero,  whose  life  he  is  sketching.    We  can  see  $ 

him  as  he  marches  to  the  attack.     Cool  and  collected,  he  dashes  upon  |> 

the  enemy,  wheels  his  repulsed  battalions,  re-forms  his  broken  columns,  ) 

and  with  all  the  calmness  of  a  holiday  parade,  holds  his  falling  masses,  < 

by  the  moral  power  of  his  own  courage,  firmly,  amid  the  most  galling  fire.  ) 

In  descriptions  of  this  kind  Mr.  H.  excells.     He  throws  around  his  sub-  J> 
ject  a  thrilling  interest." — Northampton  Daily  Gazette. 

"  The  sketch  of  Napoleon  with  which  Mr.  Headley's  book  opens,  is  vi-  <" 
gorous  and  spirited,  and  remarkable,  in  contradistinction  to  the  writings 
of  the  Scott  and  Alison  school,  for  the  broad  and  liberal  view  taken  of 
the  illustrious  subject.  Napoleon  is  not  measured  by  the  petty  grievan 
ces  of  England,  but  by  the  true  historical  standard  of  his  rise  and  ad 
vancement  as  a  necessary  developement  of  the  French  nation.  This 
simple  view  of  his  position  and  character  has  been  carefully  set  aside  by 
English  prejudices,  which  have,  as  Mr.  Headley  remarks,  infected  Ameri 
can  literary  opinion  to  an  extent  to  which  it  is  hardly  possible  for  the 
readers  of  the  present  day  to  be  conscious.  It  is  singular  how  many  ap 
parent  incongruities,  raised  by  English  writers,  are  at  once  solved  by  a 
philosophical  estimate  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  French  Revolution. 
The  wickedness  for  wickedness'  sake,  of  which  Burke  makes  so  fine  a  re- 
torical  use,  is  seen  for  the  honor  of  human  nature  to  take  quite  a  differ 
ent  shape  in  the  form  of  a  maddened  and  infuriated  patriotism — but 
patriotism  still. 

"  We  know  of  no  sketch  of  Napoleon  where  so  much  matter  is  put  into 
so  small  a  space  as  in  this  introductory  paper  by  Mr.  Headley.  It  is 
ingenious,  straight-forward,  and  entirely  free  from  that  biographical 
rubbish  to  which  Carlyle  has  shown  a  distaste.  The  sketches  of  the 
Marshals  are  always  animated.  We  perceive  that  some  of  the  papers 
are  complaining  of  Mr.  Headley's  adding  to  the  false  excitement  of 
war.  To  this  charge  he  is  hardly  liable.  There  is  no  special  plea  for 
war  that  we  have  noticed  in  the  whole  book.  His  guilt,  if  any,  is  that 
he  has  made  his  book  interesting.  When  that  dull  affair  in  the  Family 
Library,  the  '  Court  and  Camp  of  Bonaparte,'  was  published,  no  on'e 
complained  of  its  exciting  a  false  love  of  military  glory.  It  was  dry  and 
— innocent.  Now  there  is  a  cant  against  war  as  there  was  once  for  it. 
Mr.  Headley  has  only  done  his  duty  in  telling  his  story  as  well  as  he 
can.  If  soldiers  are  to  be  put  down  in  literature,  it  is  true  it  is  good 
policy  to  let  none  but  dull  fellows  write  about  them,  and  Mr.  Headley  is 
in  many  respects— chiefly  by  virtue  of  his  eager  narrative  and  natural 
love  of  excitement— the  very  last  man  to  whom  they  should  have  been 
entrusted." — Morning  News. 


HEADLEY?S  SACRED  MOUNTAINS.  > 

The  Sacred  Mountains  by  J.  T.  Headley,  author  of  Napo-  > 

Icon  and  His  Marshals,  &c.     1   Vol.  8vo. ;   illustrated  > 

with  11  elegant  steel  engravings  of  the  Mountains  of  the  \ 

Holy  Land  by  Burt,  and  13  beautiful  designs  by  Lossing.  ; 

"  The  work  consists  of  a  description  of  the  several  mountains  men-  > 

tioned  in  Scripture,  and  of  the  wonderful  scenes  that  have  been  exhibited  <[ 

upon  them.    Ararat,  Moria,  Sinai,  Hor,  Pisgah,  Horeb,  Carmel,  Leba-  > 

non,  Zion,  Tabor,  Olivet,  Calvary,  and  the  Mount  of  God,  are  made  sue-  ? 

cessively  to  rise  up  before  the  eye  of  the  mind,  invested  with  all  that  su-  , 

perlative  interest  which  they  gather  from  having  been  the  theatre  of  the  ; 
most  wonderful  exhibitions  of  divine  power,  wisdom  and  goodness. 

"  As  we  have  gone  through  the  work,  we  confess  that  we  have  felt  that  ', 

the  author's  power  of  imagination  was  well  nigh  unparalled.    Here  he  > 

moves  in  the  fury  of  the  tempest,  and  there  upon  the  breathing  zephyr ;  > 

here  he  paints  terror  and  blood  till  one's  own  blood  actually  curdles,  and  «, 

there  illumines  his  page  with  some  beautiful  picture  which  put  in  requi-  ', 

sition  all  the  brightest  hues  of  the  rainbow.     The  book,  so  far  as  we  > 

know,  is  entirely  unique  in  its  character.     It  addresses  itself  to  the  best  > 

feelings  of  the  Christian's  heart,  chiefly  through  the  medium  of  the  im-  ', 

magination.    Thousands  will   read  it  with  delight,  and  will  ever  after-  S 

wards  contemplate  the  scenes  which  it  describes  with  an  interest  which  ? 
they  never  felt  before."— Albany  Herald. 

"  Those  who  have  read  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals,  will  find  here  a  \ 

book  marked  by  the  same  impetuous,  glowing  style,  but  on  subjects  ' 

more  agreeable  to  a  religious  taste.    We  are  much  gratified  ourselves  to  > 

possess  the  volume,  and  we  commend  it  to  our  readers  as  a  charm-  j, 

ing  gift-book,  and  a  useful  companion  for  quiet  hours."— New  York  } 

Recorder.  ^ 

" '  The  Sacred  Mountains '  is  the  title  of  a  very  elegant  volume  just  ? 

published  by  Baker  and  Scribner.     It  is  written  by  J.  T.  HRADLEY,  c 

whose  various  volumes,  though  recently  published,  have  made  him  one  ^ 

of  the  most  popular  living  writers  in  the  country.     It  contains  descrip-  < 

tive  and  historical  sketches  of  all  the  mountains  rendered  memorable  by  $ 

having  been  made  the  scenes  of  great  events  recorded  in  Scripture.     Its  > 

design    as  the  author  says,  is  'to  render  more  familiar  and  life-like  <J 

some  of  the  scenes  of  the  Bible.'     The  sketches  are  written  in  the  same  ] 

vigorous  and  brilliant  style  which  has  mainly  given  to  HEADLEY'S  > 

volumes  their  wide  popularity,  and  present  more  impressive  and  attrac-  ; 

tive  views  of  these  scenes  and  the  events  connected  with  them,  than  we  >, 

have  ever  seen  eJsewhere.     They  will  be  eagerly  read  by  all  classes  of  > 

persons." — N.  Y.  Courier  and  ^Enquirer.  ^ 

11  The  subject, '  The  Sacred  Mountains,'  is  in  itself  a  grand  and  sublime  / 

theme  •  and  the  brilliant  and  distinguished  abilities  of  the  author,  render  > 

the  work  one  of  rarest  merit.    Headly  writes  as  no  other  man  ever  has  *> 

written.     His  style  is  peculiar ;  his  own,  and  inimitable.    He  employs  ,> 

his  pen  only  on  subjects  of  the  loftiest  grandeur  and  sublimity  ;  and  his  <J 

powers  of  description  are  such,  that  he  awakens  and  carries  with  him  s 
every  sentiment,  passion,  and  feeling  of  his  reader. 

'•'  'Whoever  has  read  '  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals,'  can  never  forget  > 
1  M'Doneld's  charge  at  Wagram,'  or  '  Ney's  charge  at  Waterloo,'  so  life 
like  and  vivid  are  his  descriptions  of  these  terrible  battles.  But  Headley 
in  his  description  of  the  Sacred  Mountains  of  Scripture  where  God  In  aw 
ful  majesty  displayed  himself  to  man,  has  more  than  sustained  his  repu 
tation  as  the  most  eloquent  and  sublime  writer  of  his  age."—  Cleveland 
Plain  Dealer. 


}  "  The  Sacred  Mountains,  those  places  consecrated  to  every  Christian  <) 

/  heart  by  occurrences  .of  the  most  solemn  interest,  afford  most  appropriate  ; 

I  subjects  for  Mr.  Headley's  vivid  powers.    He  sees  them  as  they  appear-  ) 

(  ed  when  they  were  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  the   prophets  and  the  \ 

<•'  apostles  of  old.     His  feelings  are  devout,  and  he  is  not  only  a  pilgrim  • 

\  visiting  sacred  spots,  but  a  Christian  whose  heart  keenly  appreciates  ) 

every  event  which  clothed  them  with  interest  in  long  past  centuries.  ( 

(  The  mechanical  execution  of  the  book  is  in  keeping  with  its  subjects  > 

\  and  the  power  exhibited  by  the  author  in  portraying  them." — Louisville  ? 

v  Journal. 

11  This  is  indeed  a  beautiful  book.    It  is,  we  should  judge,  one  of  the   s 

>  gifted  author's  happiest  efforts,  as  it  certainly  is  one  of  the  most  novel.    " 
',   Most  literary  gentlemen  ransack  old  tales  and  old  ballads  for  themes   < 

and  suggestions  fer  their  literary  efforts ;  but  Mr.  H.  has  gone  to  the  < 

Scriptures,  and  has  given  us  a  series  of  sacred  pictures.  The  author  is  ) 

an  artist.  With  brush  in  hand,  he  goes  from  scene  to  scene,  and  deline-  s 

v  ates  with  a  truthful  touch,  many  of  the  most  thrilling  incidents  of  Scrip-  ji 

ture  history.  / 

^       "  The  beauty  and  power  of  Mr.  Headley's  writing  is  in  its  remarkable  ( 

>  vivacity.    Evey  page  is  alive  with  interest.     He  makes  every  scene,  as  • 
^   many  do  not  who  handle  sacred  things,  one  of  present  reality." — Nor-  I 
'   wich  Courier.  «,' 

'  Mr.  Headley  is  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  our  writers, 

?  and  this  volume  will  amply  sustain  and  extend  his  reputation.     His  de- 

)  scriptions  of  the  "Sacred  Mountains"  are  very  graphic  and  beautiful, 

>  condensing  within  brief  compass  a  great  deal  of  information,  conveyed 
\  through  the  medium  of  a  highly  ornate,  polished  and  vigorous  style.     It 
()  will  be  welcome  in  every  family  where  the  Bible  is  read  and  studied. 
'.  The  illustrations  are  finished  engravings  of  Mount  Ararat,  Moria,  Sinai, 
,  Hor,  Pisgah.  Carmel,  Lebanon,  Zion,  Tabor,  and  the  Mount  of  Olives,  ex- 
'  ecuted  by  Burt,  from  paintings  by  Turner,  Calcot,  Harding,  Bartlett 

and  others." — Protestant  Churchman. 

',  "  This  work  is  alike  worthy  of  public  favor,  whether  we  consider  the 

)  subject  to  which  it  relates  or  the  manner  in  which  it  is  executed.    The 

>  subject  is  novel  and  striking,  connecting  itself  with  the  Christian's  most 
.  sublime  and  hallowed  associations.    The  execution  is  altogether  adnri- 
)  rable — every  page  bears  the  impress  of  a  most  lofty  and  powerful  iinma- 
/  gination,  a  highly  cultivated  taste  and  spirit  of  deep  and  earnest  devo- 
',  tion.     The  author  conducts  his  readers,  as  by  an  angel's  hand,  through 

the  most  awful  and  glorious  scenes  whieh  the  world  has  ever  witnessed ; 

and  so  strong  is  the  light  in  which  everything  is  presented,  that  one 
,  seems  to  be  in  communion  with  the  actual  reality,  rather  than  contem- 
\  plate  the  mere  description.  It  is  altogether  a  most  extraordinary  book. 
';•  and  we  venture  to  predict  that  it  will  not  only  travel  far  but  live  long." 
'  — Albany  Herald. 

'       "  A  pleasanter,  more  profitable,  more  graceful  and  beautiful  gift-book 
<    than  this,  it  will  be  hard  to  find,  among  all  the  productions  of  the  season. 
'    The  sacred  sketches  it  contains  are  written  in  Mr.  Headley's  well-known 
{   glowing  and  energetic  style,  with  pictures  of  scenery,  and  accompanying 
t    thoughts  and  feelings,  through  which  many  a  reader  has  followed  the 
author  with  deep  interest.     Ararat,  Moriah,  Sinai,  Hor,  Pisgah,  Horeb, 
,    Carmel,  Lebanon.  Zion,  Tabor,  Mount  of  Olives,  Mount  Calvary,  the 
,    Mount  of  God  !     What  thoughts  and  associations  of  sacred  solemnity 
s   and  grandeur  cluster  around  such  an  array  of  objects  !     It  was  a  most 
happy  idea,  that  of  grouping  these  mountains,  and  taking  the  reader  over 
)   them,  to  gaze  both  at  the  material  and  moral  scenery." — N.  Y.  Evan 
gelist. 


"  Mr.  Headley's  characteristics  a<   a  writer  are  so  well  known  and 
favorably  appreciated,  that  we  need  not  bespeak  public  attention  to  , 
anything  from  his  pen.     There  is  about  the  present  volume,  however, 
an  unusual  charm,  a  peculiar  attractiveness,  especially  to  the  serious,  s 
meditative  reader,  which  will  secure  for  it  ample  audience  and  lasting 
popularity.    The  moral  tone  is  elevated  and  sustained  throughout,  the   ) 
coloring  vivid  and  life-like,  and  the  entire  impression  upon  the  reader's    > 
heart,  not  unlike  what  would  be  produced  by  an  actual  pilgrimage   ; 
among  the  scenes  it  describes.    The  artistical  accessories  are  in  the   <, 
most  finished  style  of  modern  excellence.     The  engravings,  eleven  in    , 
number,  are  by  BURT." — Christian  Parlor  Magazine.  > 

)       "  The  design  in  them  all  is  to  render  more  familiar  and  life-like  some   ) 
(   of  the  scenes  of  the  Bible.     They  are  exceedingly  interesting  and  beau-   > 
\   tiful.     By  filling  up  from  personal  observation  the  outlines  presented  in  f 
•   the  Bible,  the  author  accomplishes  the  double  task  of  familiarizing  the  < 
?   mind  with  the  place  of  the  occurrence,  and  of  giving  to  the  event  a  f 
)   vitality  that  greatly  enhances  its  interest.     The  work  is  illustrated  with 
y  eleven  beautiful  engravings,  by  Burt,  from  paintings  of  (Jalcot,  Turner, 
1   Harding,  Bartlett  and  Bolmar."— Christian  Intelligencer. 
'       "  As  a  descriptive  writer,  Mr.  Headley  is  surpassingly  gifted,  as  the 
;,   pages  of  his  popular  work  on  '  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals'  abundantly 

>  testify,  and  in  his  sketches  of  the  Sacred  Mountains— the  theatres  of 

f   some  of  the  most  thrilling  scenes  in  the  world's  history — his  enthusiasm   ) 
(   pictures  them  to  the  mind's  eye  with  an  intense  and  vivid  power,  that  ( 
,   kindles  to  sublimity.    The  book  before  us  comprises  thirteen  of  ihese 
I   descriptions,  and  is  embellished  with  eleven  splendid  steel  engravings 
{   of  the  mountains,  which  add  greatly  to  its  interest  and  value."— Spring- 
i  field  Gazette. 

'•'  The  volume  is  composed  of  a  number  of  essays  on  the  principal  ,' 
mountains  which  figure  in  biblical  history.  They  are  elegantly  written,  s 
and  distinguished  for  a  happy  blending  together  of  facts  and  the  im- 

>  agining  of  a  mind  attuned  to  all  that  is  true  and  beautiful  in  the  works 
of  nature  and  the  human  heart.    We  feel  thankful  towards  Mr.  Headley 

f  for  his  interesting  comments  upon  the  Sacred  Mountains,  aud  assure 

<  our  readers  that  a  perusal  of  them  will  improve  the  mind  and  reform 
)  the  feelings  of  the  heart."— N.  V.  Evening  Post. 

(       "  The  theme  of  this  volume  is  exceedingly  well  calculated  to  bring 
i  out  Mr  Headley's  great  powers  of  rapid  picturesque  narration,  colored 
'  all  over  by  the  gorgeous  glow  of  a  vivid  and  fertile  imagination.    The  ^ 
'  sacred  mountains  of  Ararat,   Sinai,  Hor,   Pisgah,  Olives,  Zion,  Tabor,  / 
etc.  have  been  the  scenes  of  such  grand  and  awful  events,  and  are  so  ( 
{  associated  with  all  that  is  most  momentous  in  the  world's  history  or  the  £ 
S   destiny  of  man,  that  even  the  coldest  nature  almost  would  feel  some-  - 

<  thing  of  inspiration  in  commemorating  them.  Few  could  do  this  so  well  as  ) 
1  Mr.  Headley.    With  warm  religious  feeling  he  unites   an  ardent,  im-  ( 
\  petous  character,  and  the  style  and  mode  of  treating  his  subject,  that  , 

would  seem  rather  exaggerated  with  other  themes,  applied  to  this  seem  J 
fitting  aud  becoming." — Buffalo  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  reader  as  he  peruses  these  sketches  almost  imagines  himself  ( 
I  transported  to  the  sacred  spots  where,  thousands  of  years  ago,  the  v 
S  scenes  transpired,  and  fancies  he  can  hear  the  thunderings  and  light-  ' 
!>  nings  of  Mount  Sinai  while  Moses  was  receiving  the  Tables  of  the  Law;  • 

<  or,  standing  with  him  upon  Mount  Pisgah,  he  sees  in  the  distance  the  ? 
\  land    that    flowed   with    milk    and     honey."— Christ ian    Secretary,  ' 
)  Hartford. 

)       "  The  author  has  given  a  glowing  description  of  thirteen  of  those  ; 
(  mountains  celebrated  in  Scripture  history,  and  of  the  memorable  events  ' 


?  which  make  them  objects  of  deep  and  general  interest  to  the  whole 
(  human  family.  The  soul-stirring  diction  and  splendid  imagery  peculiar 
}  to  the  writings  of  Mr.  Headley,  invest  these  themes  with  many  new 
(  charms,  and  cannot  fail  to  awaken  the  most  pleasurable  emotions  in  the 

<  mind  of  the  reader. 

$  "  The  work  is  embellished,  not  merely  fitted,  with  splendid  engravings, 
>  which  are  well  calculated  to  illustrate  the  graphic  descriptions  of  this 
\  popular  writer. — Teacher's  Jldvocate,  Syracuse. 

\  "  The  intention  of  the  author  of  the  Sacred  Mountains  is  to  render 

<  more  vivid  and  life-like  the  scenes  of  the  Bible,  with  which  we  are  ail 
^  familiar,  yet  which  we  are  apt  to  look  upon  as  less  natural  than  the 
^  scenes  of  every-day  life.    No  one  was  better  fitted  for  this  work  than 
',  the  author.    With  an  easy,  graceful  style,  a  language  exceedingly  chaste 
'-  and  rich,  he  portrays  to  our  imagination  the  scenes  to  which  the  Sacred 
/  Mountains  were  witness,  and  impresses  them  indelibly  upon  the  mind. 
C  — Christian  Advocate  and  Journal. 

4  "The  subjects  afford  a  fine  scope  for  the  very  graphic  descriptive 

',  talent  of  the  author,  who  has  never  shone  to  better  advantage — especi- 

'  ally  in  the  sketch  entitled  Mount  Ararat.    The  last  of  the  thirteen  is 

\  very  beautiful,  though  brief.    It  is  entitled  the  Mount  of  God,  and  in 

(  the  description  of  it  the  author  has  most  happily  gathered  up  the  great 

;  moral  truths  which  those  sky-pointing  peaks  symbolize,  and  to  which 

?  they  point  the  way. 

<  '<•  It  was  a  happy  idea  which  lead  Mr.  Headley,  to  group  together  spots 
rendered  immortal  by  the  thrilling  and  solemn  scenes  they  have  wit- 

^   nessed.   He  has  thus,  by  associating  his  own  genius  with  subjects  which. 

t    must  always  be  the  objects  of  deep  and  permanent  interest  to  the  Bible 

reader,  ensured  for  his  work  an  enduring  reputation."— AT.  S.  Observer. 

«  Throughout  the  entire  volume,  the  writings  are  of  that  elevated 
character  which  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  subject,  and  which  gives  it  a 
value  far  above  any  work  of  the  kind  that  has  ever  come  under  our  eye. 
The  illustrations  are  beautiful,  being  accurate  drawings  from  the  moun- 
tains  represented.  The  engravings  are  fourteen  in  number,  admirably 
designed  and  well  executed." — Rochester  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  This  is  truly  a  beautiful  volume,  in  which  the  printer,  engraver 
paper  maker  and  binder,  engage  in  friendly  rivalship  to  outdo  each 
other.  The  vignette,  representing  Bethlehem,  is  exquisite,  and  the 
sacred  mountains,  Ararat,  Moriah,  Sinai,  Hor,  Pisgah,  Carmel,  Le- 
banon,  Zion,  Tabor,  and  Olives,  are  beautifully  pictured  to  the  eye. 
The  descriptions  of  these  sacred  spots,  and  the  reflections  they  awaken 
are  poetically  rich  and  impressive,  evincing  no  small  power  in  that 
style  of  writing  by  which  Mr.  Headley  has  acquired  popularity."— 
Presbyterian. 


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